\ 


-W^ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


JAMES    J.   MC    BRIDE 


Love  Idylls 

By    S.    R.    CROCKETT 

Author  of  "  The,   Raiders"   "  The  Lilac 
Sunbonnet"  "Joan  of  the  Sword  Hand"  etc. 


»9^i 


NEW  YORK 

2DoDD,  speaD  anij  Company 

1 90 1 


Copyright,  1900,  1901, 
By  S.  R.  Crockett 


Copyright,  1901, 
By  Dodd,  Mead  and  Company 


s- 


CONTENTS 

The  Fitting  of  the  Peats. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  The  Bonnet  Laird, I 

II.  The  First  Fitting  of  the  Peats,   ...  8 

III.  Pretty  Mistress  Bell, 15 

IV.  A   Lesson   in   Architecture,   ....  22 
V.  "God  Save  King  George !"....  29 

VI.  The  Secret  of  the  Plastered  Door,   .  34 

VII.  Will  Begbie  Has  a  Sore  Heart,   .    .  42 

VIII.  A  Seed  for  Next  Year's  Garden,   .    .  48 

IX.  The   Bridge  of  Avignon, 55 

X.  The  Second  Fitting  of  the  Peats,   .  64 

XI.  The  Proposal, 68 

XII.  The  Other  Plan 76 

XIII.  The  Capture, 82 

The  Count  and  Little  Gertrude. 

CHAPTER 

I.  The  Daisy-Chain, 105 

II.  The  Convict  Gang, no 

III.  The  Bird  of  Hope, 117 

IV.  A  Rosebud  of  Tenty-one, 121 

V.  The  Siege  of  the  Chalet, 129 

VI.  Who  Shall  Save, 138 

VII.  The  Cleft  of  St.  Martin, 145 

i 


iv  Contents 

PAGE 

Love  Among  the  Beech  Leaves, 157 

The   Purple  Mountains, 191 

A  Golden  Mountain, 207 

BlLLIAM, 217 

Vernor  the  Traitor. 

Part    I.  The  Outcast, 249 

"     II.  The  Love  of  Enemies, 268 

That  Popish  Parson  Fellow, 289 

The  Exercise  Book  of  Field-Marshal  Prince 

Ilantz,  .    .  ...  ...  .    .  ...  ...  ..  ...  ...  .  ...  ...  ...  ...  303 


THE 
FITTING  OF   THE   PEATS 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  BONNET  LAIRD 


Ninian  Mac  Lurg,  Laird  of  Millwharchar,  in  the 
hill  country  of  Galloway,  took  off  his  broad  blue 
bonnet  and  wiped  his  brow.  It  was  customary  for 
lairds  at  that  time  to  wear  broad-brimmed  hats 
which  came  from  Edinburgh,  or  even  as  far  as  Lon- 
don, according  to  the  standing  of  their  territorial 
sasine  upon  the  rolls  of  the  county  sheriff. 

But  there  are  lairds  and  lairds,  bonnets  and  bon- 
nets. So  Ninian  Mac  Lurg  wore  a  blue  broad-piece 
almost  as  heavy  as  a  steel  cap,  with  a  checked  band 
of  red  and  white  Rob  Roy  tartan  and  a  round  button 
the  brightest  scarlet  on  the  top,  which  to  the  initiate 
meant  that  the  headgear  had  been  manufactured  no 
farther  away  than  Kilmarnock  in  the  neighbouring 
shire  of  Ayr.     The  Laird  of  Millwharchar's  bonnet 


Love   Idylls 


was  no  mere  common  bonnet,  new  coft  from  the 
shop  of  Rob  Rorrison  on  the  Plainstanes  of  Dum- 
fries. It  did  not  dazzle  the  beholder  with  the 
brilliance  of  its  checked  pattern.  No  flaunting 
feather  cocked  restlessly  at  an  angle  upon  its  right 
side,  as  was  too  much  the  fashion  among  the  unhal- 
lowed young  callants  who  roamed  the  country  side 
after  the  lasses. 

No — many  times  no,  indeed.  Ninian  Mac  Lurg's 
bonnet  was  a  sober,  serious,  responsible  piece  of 
headgear,  well  befitting  its  stern  wearer.  Generally 
it  was  drawn  firmly  down  on  either  side  till  the  band 
touched  the  tips  of  the  wearer's  ears.  It  was  worn 
doggedly,  belligerently,  almost  insolently.  For  that 
was  the  way  in  which  Ninian  Mac  Lurg  wore  all  his 
garments,  till  even  when  lying  upon  a  chair  by  his 
box-bed  at  nights  they  seemed  able  and  willing  at 
any  moment  to  expound  the  catechism,  contradict 
an  opinion  upon  any  subject  by  whomsoever  ad- 
vanced, or  to  deal  either  any  unlicensed  night-raker 
or  Episcopalian  dissenter  a  most  discomposing  buf- 
fet on  the  side  of  his  head  for  the  good  of  his  soul. 

Ninian  Mac  Lurg  was  looking  for  his  daughter 
Bell.  He  had  three  other  younger  daughters  and 
two  sons,  out  somehow  Bell  took  more  looking 
after  than  all  the  others. 

'The  de'il's  in  the  lassie,"  was  his  unpaternal  way 


The   Fitting   of  the   Peats 


of  explaining  and  denouncing  this  fact.  "I  declare 
I  canna  gang  to  the  house  o'  God  on  the  Lord's 
great  day  but  it's  'Where's  Mistress  Bell?'  'What 
for  brocht  ye  no  Miss  Isobel  wi'  ye,  Laird?' — as  if 
the  feckless  helicat  lassie  had  been  the  minister 
himsel' !" 

But  after  all  there  is  no  accounting  for  taste,  and 
so  the  matter  stood.  Then  not  only  was  this 
strange  popularity  of  his  daughter  a  trouble  to  the 
laird  at  kirk  or  market;  it  was  equally  troublesome 
when  he  abode  on  his  own  acres. 

Two  stout  sons  he  had,  Alec  and  John  by  name, 
who  laboured  all  day  at  plough  and  flail  to  satisfy 
their  father,  but  at  the  gloaming  went  off  on  their 
own  visitations  at  other  farm  towns,  where  the 
gloom  was  less  pronounced  than  within  the  sphere 
of  influence  dominated  by  the  severe  Laird  of  Mill- 
wharchar. 

"The  man  that  shall  tak'  daughter  o'  mine  frae 
aboot  the  hoose,"  he  was  wont  to  proclaim  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  between  kirk-door  and  market- 
cross,  "maun  hae  three  hunder  pound  o'  coined 
siller  and  three  hunder  acres  o'  good  plow  land 
besides.  He  shall  satisfy  me  upon  three  points  o' 
doctrine  according  to  the  Presbyterian  standards 
of  our  faith,  and  lastly  he  shall  stand  up  to  me, 
Ninian  Mac  Lurg,  with  a  stieve  cudgel  of  oak  in 


Love  Idylls 


his  fist,  and  therewith  he  shall  break  my  head. 
Then  after  that  I  will  speak  with  him  in  the  gate 
concerning  my  daughter." 

All  the  same  Bell  Mac  Lurg  took  a  good  deal  of 
trouble  inseparable  from  the  task  of  finding  such  a 
paragon  out  of  the  laird's  hands;  and  used  her  fine 
eyes  so  resolutely  and  to  such  purpose  among  the 
faithful  on  Sabbath  mornings  at  kirk,  that  young 
bloods  from  distant  parishes,  who  for  years  had 
systematically  neglected  the  stated  assembling  of 
themselves  together,  became  constant  and  devout 
attenders  upon  ordinances  at  the  Kirk  of  Dullarg. 
Moreover,  some  curious  and  recondite  motive  in- 
duced them  to  congregate  along  the  west  wall — a 
spot  not  much  in  favour  with  the  general  body  of 
the  faithful,  inasmuch  as  not  only  was  it  hot  in 
summer  and  cold  and  draughty  in  winter,  but  what 
was  worse — from  the  seats  along  the  west  wall  one 
could  not  watch  the  minister's  movements  during 
time  of  sermon,  nor  yet  make  certain  that  on  the 
top  of  the  shut  pulpit  Bible  there  was  not  room  for 
the  most  microscopic  of  written  "notes."  All  the 
same  these  highly  undesirable  benches  were  now 
generally  better  filled  than  the  rest  of  the  kirk. 
And  it  has  really  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter  to 
add  that  the  square  black-lettered  pew  of  the  Mac 
Lurgs  was  placed  at  the  lower  angle  of  the  west 


The  Fitting  of  the  Peats 


wall,  and  that  Bell  Mac  Lurg  never  passed  a  sprig 
of  thyme  or  sleep-dispelling  southernwood  to  her 
sisters  without  having  a  whole  battery  of  admiring 
eyes  directed  upon  her  movements. 

One  famous  Lord's  Day  as  Ninian  Mac  Lurg 
opened  the  small  pew  door  to  marshal  his  family  in 
before  him,  he  stopped  suddenly  aghast.  All  four 
seats  were  piled  high  with  branches  of  sweet- 
scented  "sidderwood,"  and  as  the  laird  said  after- 
wards, "What  with  flowering  thyme  and  other 
playactin'  trash,  the  decent  Millwharchar  pew  was 
steaming  like  a  haystack  that  had  heated." 

Ninian  Mac  Lurg  was  not,  however,  a  man  with- 
out common  sense.  He  had  been,  as  the  country 
side  expressed  it,  a  "gye  boy"  in  his  youth — which, 
being  interpreted,  meant  that  he  had  had  some 
repute  of  wildness  before  the  arrival  of  that  inward 
grace  which  in  the  Bonnet  Laird  had  now  so  en- 
tirely gained  the  mastery  over  original  sin  and 
actual  transgression. 

The  Laird  of  Millwharchar,  casting  back  into  his 
own  unhallowed  youth,  instantly  divined  whence 
the  "rubbish"  had  come,  and  correctly  estimated 
its  meaning  and  purport.  With  a  haughty  gesture 
of  his  left  hand  he  kept  his  family,  as  it  were,  at  bay, 
while  he  entered  the  square  "seat."  Then,  with  an 
action  exactly  like  a  binder  on  the  harvest-field,  he 


6  Love   Idylls 

took  up  the  southernwood,  the  thyme,  and  yet  rarer 
growths  in  his  arms,  pressed  them  into  small  com- 
pass, and  strode  with  them  to  the  bench  along  the 
west  wall,  which  was  already  filled  with  the  bache- 
lordom,  eligible  or  otherwise,  of  three  parishes. 
Then,  like  to  a  sower  on  a  windy  day,  he  swept  his 
mighty  arm  along  the  astonished  row — and  lo, 
their  offerings  to  Venus,  as  one  might  say,  the 
frankincense  and  mixed  spices  and  myrrh  were 
scattered  in  the  very  faces  of  those  who  had 
brought  them  to  the  temple.  Thereafter  Ninian 
Mac  Lurg  passed  slowly  down  the  west  wall  with 
his  oaken  staff  in  his  hand  ("thick  as  a  bullock's 
hind  leg,"  said  Rob  Gregory  of  the  Boreland),  and 
held  it  a  moment  under  every  young  man's  nose, 
giving  him  ample  time  to  inhale  the  perfume  of  its 
polished  knobs  and  sinewy  compacted  strength. 

After  that  the  western  wall  was  more  thickly 
populous  than  ever  with  daring  and  worshipful 
swains,  but  the  Millwharchar  "box-seat"  remained 
for  ever  empty  and  swept — but  wholly  ungar- 
nished. 

"Bell — Bell  Mac  Lurg — oh,  ye  besom,  wait  till 
I  lay  hands  on  ye!  The  kye  are  yet  on  the  hill. 
'Tis  not  an  hour  to  milking  time!  The  lads  are 
wauling  their  suppers,  and  gin  ye  dinna  come,  ye'll 
miss  the  worship  o'  God — and  I'll  daud  the  head 
a  IT  ye,  my  lass!" 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  7 

This  comprehensive  denunciation  Ninian  ad- 
dressed to  the  waving  broom  and  nodding  gowans 
of  the  "park"  pastures  which  lay  like  a  bright  green 
fringe  outside  the  gardens  and  orchards  of  Mill- 
wharchar.  But  only  the  girdling  woods  of  Lar- 
brax  and  his  own  white  barn  wall  gave  back  the 
echo. 

Thwarted  outside,  Ninian  Mac  Lurg  went  into 
the  house,  and  relieved  his  feelings  by  subjecting 
his  younger  daughters  to  wholesome  spiritual  dis- 
cipline. Then,  being  sore  by  reason  of  Bell's  im- 
pudent evasion,  he  yet  further  regained  his  self- 
respect  by  going  to  the  hay-field  in  order  to  tell 
Alec  and  John  that  they  were  lazy  good-for-noth- 
ings, who  would  not  sleep  that  night  with  whole 
bones  unless  they  worked  twice  as  hard  as  they  had 
been  doing. 

But  these  projects,  agreeable  and  delightsome  as 
they  appeared,  were  instantly  banished  by  a  sight 
which  fairly  dumb-foundered  the  Laird  of  Mill- 
wharchar. 

On  the  face  of  a  brae  some  three  hundred  yards 
from  the  farmhouse  his  daughter  Bell  appeared,  in 
the  broad  light  of  day,  unblasted  by  the  lightnings 
of  heaven,  calmly  walking  towards  him  with  a 
young  man  on  either  side  of  her. 


8  Love   Idylls 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  FIRST  FITTING  OF  THE  PEATS 

This  is  how  it  happened.  As  usual  in  such  cases 
it  was  in  no  sense  the  lady's  fault. 

Bell  Mac  Lurg  had  gone  out  to  the  moor 
avowedly  to  "fit"  such  peats  as  had  been  drying  on 
the  heather,  after  being  carried  out  of  the  "face," 
or  wet  bank  of  fibrous  fuel,  from  which  her  father's 
strong  arms  had  cut  and  "cast"  them.  It  was  a 
hot  day,  so  Bell  took  with  her  a  white  summer  bon- 
net of  linen  framed  on  wire,  the  materials  for  which 
she  had  bought  out  of  her  butter-money  last  Rood 
Fair — without,  however,  thinking  it  necessary  to 
consult  her  father  on  the  transaction.  It  was  a 
becoming  article  of  attire,  but  nevertheless  the  lady 
wore  it  mostly  in  her  hand,  or  drooping  over  her 
shoulders  by  the  strings. 

Isobel  Mac  Lurg  arrived  at  the  peat-moss  in  due 
time,  and  sat  down  to  recover  herself  upon  a  con- 
venient tussock  of  dry  heather,  when  she  saw  an 
apparition  strange  to  be  discerned  in  that  wild 
place — that  is,  save  and  except  when  Mistress  Bell 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats 


by  chance  wandered  thither.  A  tall  young  man 
was  coming  over  the  moss  towards  her. 

Bell  Mac  Lurg  shaded  her  brow  with  her  bonnet. 
She  did  not  need  to  lift  it  very  high  in  order  to  do 
this,  for  the  sun  was  already  quickening  his  pace 
for  the  final  plunge  beneath  the  horizon. 

"It  cannot  be  Will  Begbie,"  she  mused.  "Will  is 
not  so  slender,  and  he  always  comes  through  the 
wood  at  any  rate.  It  cannot  be  Allan  of  the  Hill. 
He  walks  too  fast  for  Allan.  It  must  be  someone 
new,  someone  I  do  not  know.  How  interesting 
that  will  be !  But  ought  I  to  have  ventured  so  far 
away  from  home?  My  father  says  that  there  are 
some  of  my  Lord  Dalmarnock's  rebels  lurking  in 
the  moss-hags  yet!     Shall  I  run  home?" 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  kilted  her  coats  with  a 
pretty  action  of  her  hands  at  either  side  her  already 
attenuated  kirtle. 

"No,  I  will  not,"  she  said;  "upon  second 
thought  he  does  not  look  like  a  rebel — from  a 
distance,  that  is !"  Then  she  fell  on  her  knees  and 
began  to  "fit"  the  peats  with  the  most  intense  and 
abstracted  concentration,  added  to  many  turnings 
of  her  head  to  this  side  and  that,  besides  divers 
pauses,  finger  on  lip,  to  consider  abstruse  problems 
of  architecture,  drying  and  ventilation. 

"It  seems  a  difficult  job,  this  which  engrosses 


io  Love  Idylls 

you  so  entirely,  madam,"  said  a  voice  close  behind 
her.  "Pardon  me  for  enquiring  if  I  can  be  of  any 
assistance  to  you?" 

Bell  rose  instantly  to  her  feet  with  a  little  cry 
and — yes,  explain  it  who  will — the  blushful  colour 
of  an  infinite  surprise  mustered  most  becomingly 
upon  her  neck  and  cheeks.  She  could  not  have 
looked  more  astonished  if  the  speaker  had  suddenly 
dropped  from  the  new  moon,  which,  like  a  blown 
leaf  of  autumn,  floated  already  high  above  the 
horizon. 

"I  have  startled  you,"  said  the  new-comer,  re- 
gretfully; "pray  pardon  me.  I  should  be  more 
sorry  than  I  can  say  to  discompose  so  fair  a 
maiden." 

In  the  first  burst  of  surprise,  Bell  had  placed  one 
hand  on  her  breast  below  her  throat,  as  if  to  recover 
herself — Eve's  attitude  when  Adam  caught  her  that 
first  time  looking  at  the  apple.  Then  she  put  her 
other  hand  up  beside  it  with  charming  uncon- 
sciousness of  her  pose,  and  looked  at  him  through 
her  mantling  eyelashes. 

He  was  tall — taller  even  than  she  had  thought 
when  she  diagnosed  him  from  Will  Begbie.  He 
was,  as  it  seemed  at  a  first  glance,  somewhat  shab- 
bily dressed,  yet  he  wore  every  article  with  such 
distinction  that,  as  Bell  put  it  to  herself,  "after  a 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  1 1 

little  you  came  quite  to  think  him  better  put  on 
than  my  Lord  Queensberry  himself."  He  was  a 
young  man,  but  yet  not  so  very  young  either,  a 
little  on  the  shady  side  of  thirty  perhaps.  But  his 
face  was  so  pale  and  thin  that  he  looked  older  than 
his  years,  and  when  he  took  the  military  hat  with 
its  binding  of  tarnished  gold  lace  off  his  head,  Bell 
could  see  a  frosting  of  early  grey  at  his  temples. 
His  surcoat,  unbuttoned  all  the  way  down  the 
front,  and  dotted  irregularly  with  gold  buttons  or 
the  threads  which  had  once  attached  them  to  it,  was 
also  white — or  rather  had  once  been  white.  The 
undercoat,  belted  easily  at  the  waist,  had  likewise, 
doubtless,  at  the  same  time  been  red.  It  was  still 
faced  with  gold  lace,  and  had  large  silk  pockets, 
from  one  of  which  the  ear  of  a  dead  hare  projected 
with  a  curious  suggestion  of  listening  to  what  was 
going  on. 

But  by  this  time  Bell  had  quite  recovered  herself. 
A  brief,  comprehensive  glance  at  once  reproachful, 
playful,  tragic,  and  coquettish,  had  told  her  all  that 
the  pen  has  been  able  to  pack  into  a  longish  para- 
graph. She  decided  that  she  would  not  be  fright- 
ened any  more — for  the  present,  that  is. 

"And  please,  sir,  who  are  you?"  she  asked,  look- 
ing up  again  at  the  man  in  the  white  coat  with  the 
straggling  gold  buttons, 


i  2  Love   Idylls 

The  young  man  laughed,  and  before  answering 
glanced  about  him  uneasily  as  if  looking  for  some- 
one. 

"Glenmorrison  would  never  forgive  me  if  he 
knew    I    had    told   you,    but    I    am    called    Adam 

Home!" 

"How  strange  I  never  had  one — I  mean  I  never 
knew  any  one  of  that  name,"  said  Bell  instantly. 
"It  must  be  very  awkward." 

"And  why  awkward?"  queried  Adam  Home, 
smiling  down  at  this  pretty  rustic  who  yet  spoke  so 
like  a  lady. 

"Because,"  said  Bell  slowly,  "if  there  were  any 
one  you  liked  very  much — any  one  who  liked  you, 
that  is,  there  is  no  nice  'little  name'  for  them  to  call 
you  by." 

She  seemed  to  turn  the  whole  subject  of  this 
second  transgression  of  Adam  over  in  her  mind. 
Then  she  shook  that  small  dark  head  of  hers,  with 
the  scarlet  snood  bound  low  about  it,  so  vigorously 
that  one  or  two  crisp  brown  ringlets  escaped  from 
that  slender  band  as  gladly  as  children  getting 
loose  from  school. 

"No,"  she  repeated  emphatically,  "it  would  not 

be  nice  at  all!" 

Adam  Home  stood  smiling  before  her,  his  hat 

still  in  his  hand. 


The  Fitting  of  the   Peats  i  3 

"And  may  I  ask  what  names  fulfil  these  severe 
conditions  sufficiently  to  be  eligible  for  your 
favour?" 

"Why,"  said  Bell  to  herself,  "I  declare  he  talks 
like  Fontinbras,  in  that  book  I  hide  from  father, 
writ  by  Mistress  Aphra  Something  or  other." 

But  aloud  she  said,  "Well,  I  like  William, 
though  it  is  common,  but  Charles  and  Francis  are 
best  of  all.  Willie,  Charlie,  and  Frank  are  so  sweet 
to  say !" 

And  she  looked  as  if  she  had  experience  of 
them  all. 

The  young  man  bowed. 

"I  am  fortunate  enough  to  be  able  to  oblige  you 
with  two  of  these.  My  full  name  happens  to  be 
Adam  Charles  Francis  Charteris  Home !" 

"You  are  not  deceiving  me!"  she  said,  looking 
up  at  him  with  an  innocence  which  added  without 
words,  "for  I  could  not  possibly  deceive  you !" 

"On  my  honour,  no !"  he  cried,  with  a  quick  re- 
bound from  the  somewhat  formal  gravity  of  de- 
meanour he  had  hitherto  observed.  "I  would  not 
attempt  to  deceive  one  on  whose  countenance 
Nature  has  marked  both  sweetness  of  disposition 
and  trustful  innocence,  in  addition  to  a  delicate 
beauty  all  its  own." 

"Lord,  Lord,"  cried  the  girl,  clapping  her  hands, 


14  Love   Idylls 

"it  is  wonderful!  How  well  you  know  me,  and 
without  ever  setting  eye  on  me  before !" 

But  if  Mr.  Home  of  the  many  praenomens  had 
been  at  all  an  observant  man,  he  would  have 
noticed  a  very  roguish  smile  lurking  about  the 
corners  of  Mistress  Bell's  mouth,  which  might  have 
caused  him  to  modify  at  least  one  clause  of  his 
somewhat  flowery  eulogium. 

But  at  that  moment  his  eyes  were  ranging  the 
heather  and  trying  to  pierce  into  the  dark  woods 
which  edged  the  Millwharchar  Moss  to  the  east- 
ward. 


The   Fitting   of  the   Peats  15 


CHAPTER  III 

PRETTY    MISTRESS   BELL 

"You  do  not  ask  me  my  name — it  must  be  be- 
cause you  know  it  already,"  said  Bell,  who  did  not 
approve  of  young  men  looking  over  her  head  at 
fine  scenery,  still  less  as  if  they  were  looking  out  for 
some  one  else.  It  was  a  trait  of  male  character  to 
which  she  had  been  little  accustomed.  So  to  the 
spoilt  little  beauty  this  grave  young  man  with  his 
stately  periods,  his  tantalising  errant  eyes,  his  tar- 
nished clothes,  and  his  noble  bearing,  was  like  a 
spur  in  the  flank  of  a  mettlesome  steed. 

Adam  Home's  eyes  returned  slowly  to  his  pretty 
companion's,  lingering  by  the  way  on  hillock  and 
hollow  with  a  sedulous  and  anxious  regard. 

"Nay,"  he  said,  "but  indeed  I  know  not  your 
name !  Will  you  tell  me  to  to  whom  I  have  the 
honour  of  speaking?" 

"Is  it  not  usual  for  gentlemen  to  ascertain  that 
first,  before  speaking  at  all?"  said  Bell  tartly 
enough. 

At  this  Master  Adam  Home  started  as  if  a  wasp 
had  stung  him. 


1 6  Love   Idylls 


"By  Heaven,  you  are  right,  madam,"  he  said, 
lifting  his  hat  ceremoniously;  "still  I  think  the  cir- 
cumstances may  plead  for  me.  This  is,  if  I  mistake 
not,  Millwharchar  Moor,  and  these  brown  shaggy 
hillocks  at  the  back  are  denominated  Lamachan 
and  the  Black  Craig  of  Dee." 

Bell  inclined  her  head,  hoping  that  if  he  went  on 
in  such  language  as  that  she  might  be  preserved 
from  smiling  too  obviously.  But  she  replied 
gravely  enough :  "Indeed  they  are,  and  the  effort 
to  denom — I  cannot  mind  that  most  excellent 
word — proves  you  a  Scot  and  a  countryman.  It  is 
as  good  as  an  introduction  at  the  Assembly  Rooms 
of  the  town  of  Edinburgh.  If  it  please  your  High- 
ness" (she  made  him  a  low  curtsey),  "I  am  nomi- 
nate— thank  you,  denominate — Bell,  or  otherwise 
Isobel  Mac  Lurg,  eldest  surviving  daughter  of 
Ninian,  Laird  of  Millwharchar." 

The  young  man  bowed  again,  with  yet  more 
humble  and  respectful  observance. 

"Mistress  Isobel,"  he  said,  "I  come  to  you  with 
something  more  than  the  commonplaces  of  intro- 
duction. Your  kindness  or  cruelty  may  mean  my 
life  or  death.  So  fair  a  lady  must  needs  in  this 
amorous  country  of  ours  have  had  such  a  sentence 
addressed  to  her  before — but  never  by  a  man  in 
such  a  case  as  I." 


The  Fitting  of  the  Peats  \j 

The  mirth  gradually  died  out  of  Bell's  eyes  as 
he  spoke. 

"The  fact  is,"  he  went  on,  "that  I  and  a  com- 
panion have  had  a  small  difficulty  with  the  Hanov- 
erian Government,  in  which  we  have  come  off 
somewhat  at  the  worse.  There  is  a  price  upon  our 
humble  heads  which  would  make  you  safe  of  new 
bonnets  to  the  end  of  your  life,  and  which  if  he 
chose,  it  would  greatly  enrich  your  father  to  ob- 
tain. For  our  sins  we  have  been  compelled  to  take 
refuge  with  certain  wild  outlaws  of  these  inmost 
hills,  headed  by  one  Hector  Faa,  who  calls  himself 
of  the  Honest  Party,  but  who  in  fact  is  ready  to  be 
honest  or  dishonest  just  as  may  suit  him  best ! 

"Now  there  is  pressing  need  for  my  friend  and 
myself  to  get  to  France,  both  on  account  of  the 
cause  which  we  have  at  heart,  and  because  the 
search  for  us  grows  daily  more  hot  and  close. 
Also  for  my  own  part  I  am  greatly  weary  of  a  damp 
and  dreary  cave  in  the  rocks,  and  of  the  society  of 
Hector  Faa,  the  hill  gipsy,  and  his  ignorant  tatter- 
demalions." 

"You  are  not  a  murderer?"  cried  Bell,  standing 
a  little  farther  off  defensively;  "you  have  never 
taken  human  life?" 

The  grave  young  man,  Adam  Home,  laughed  a 
little  self-contemptuous  ironic  laugh.     "Indeed,  I 


18  Love   Idylls 


cannot  flatter  me  that  I  have.  I  was  never  in  but 
one  affair,  and  that  was  a  ravelled,  unsatisfactory 
piece  of  business.  It  took  me  all  my  time  to  keep 
the  swords  of  King  George's  Hessians  off  my  own 
crown." 

"Then  you  are  a  rebel,"  she  said,  panting  a  little 
— "how  lovely !" 

"I  am  very  glad  you  think  so,"  he  said.  "I  am 
in  hopes  that  in  that  capacity  I  may  make  a  simi- 
larly favourable  impression  upon  your  father,  and 
mayhap  induce  him  to  accommodate  us  with 
horses,  and  conduct  us  privately  to  some  cove  on 
the  southern  shore  of  Galloway,  whence  we  may 
obtain  boat  for  France." 

As  he  had  been  speaking,  Bell's  countenance  had 
gradually  been  falling.  As  soon  as  he  had  finished 
she  came  a  step  nearer  him,  and  held  up  her  clasped 
hands  with  a  sweet  penitential  innocence  which 
was  not  on  this  occasion  all  assumed. 

"Oh,  do  not!"  she  cried,  "do  not!  For  God's 
dear  sake — yes,  and  your  own,  never  dream  of  go- 
ing to  my  father.  If  you  are  of  the  Pretender's 
party,  or  favourable  to  my  Lord  Kenmure,  he  will 
have  no  pity  upon  you — not  though  your  case  were 
ten  times  as  needful." 

"Mistress  Isobel,"  said  Adam  gravely,  "I  will  not 
conceal  from  you  that  we  have  heard  some  such 


The  Fitting  of  the  Peats  19 

reports  of  the  laird  of  this  bleak  heritage  as  dis- 
couraged us  from  approaching  him  directly.  But 
that  was  before  we  knew  that  he  owned  a  jewel  so 
rare  that  to  possess  it,  nay  even  to  gaze  upon  it — 
were  worth — were  worth " 

"Who  may  you  be  calling  it?"  inquired  Bell 
pointedly,  as  he  stammered  and  paused  for  a  fitting 
price  with  which  to  round  his  phrase. 

The  unexpected  interrogatory  knocked  the  bot- 
tom out  of  his  compliment.  Adam  Home  laughed, 
coloured,  and  finally  said:  "I'faith,  Mistress  Bell, 
you  have  not  your  wit  to  seek.  We  will  be  having 
you  at  Versailles  yet,  clattering  up  the  great  gallery 
upon  the  prettiest  of  red  heels,  and  parrying  and 
reposting  with  each  courtier  as  you  go." 

"Indeed  I  were  better  employed  fitting  the 
peats,"  said  Bell;  "but  to  your  needs.  I  am  con- 
cerned, sir,  for  your  necessities  and  those  of  your 
friend.  But  I  do  urgently  dissuade  you  from  ap- 
proaching my  father.  He  would  of  a  surety  hand 
you  over  to  the  Government,  without  question  or 
pity,  being  a  strong  friend  of  their  party." 

"But  he  is  a  gentleman,  a  laird  on  his  own 
property.  He  would  surely  have  some  compas- 
sion on  misfortunate  men  whose  heads  are  already 
forfeit  to  the  executioner's  axe !" 

Bell  shook  her  own  pretty  head,  and  felt  her  neck 


20  Love   Idylls 

with  a  little  shudder  as  if  to  make  sure  that  it  was 
rightly  attached  at  top  and  bottom. 

"Ah,"  she  cried,  again  interrupting  him,  "you 
do  not  know  my  father  when  you  speak  so.  He  is 
a  strong,  fierce  man,  a  Covenant  man  of  the  stern- 
est sort,  and  he  hath  sworn  that  if  ever  he  catch  any 
of  the  Pretender's  folk,  he  will  slay  them  like  so 
many  rats  in  a  trap !" 

"That  he  might  not  find  so  easy,"  said  the  youth. 
"We  are  at  least  men  of  our  hands,  we  rebels  of  the 
moss  and  cave !" 

"I  see,  sir,  that  you  know  not  my  father,"  she 
answered,  not  without  a  certain  satisfaction;  "he 
could  break  a  dozen"  (she  was  about  to  say  "of 
you,"  but  refrained),  "a  dozen  men  in  his  fingers  at 
once.  There  is  none  in  all  the  countryside  can 
stand  against  him  for  a  moment — no,  not  even  Sir 
Alexander  Gordon  himself." 

Then  a  quaintly  wilful  look  stole  over  her  face 
as  she  looked  at  the  young  man  in  the  frayed  coat. 

"But  there  may  be  a  way,"  she  said;  "my  father 
goeth  to  Wigton  to-morrow.  I  know  where  there 
are  horses  on  the  moors  which  you  can  catch  with 
a  feed  of  corn  at  any  time.  Saddles  there  are  in 
the  stable,  and  that  shall  be  unlocked.  I  will  put 
plenty  of  providing  for  man  and  beast  behind  the 
park  dyke  in  a  hollow  of  the  rock  which  I  shall 


The   Fitting   of  the   Peats  21 

show  you.  I  myself  will  set  you  on  your  way,  and, 
it  may  be,  provide  a  safe  escort  who  will  hold  his 
tongue — a  neighbour  lad  who  will  do  the  thing  I 
tell  him,  and  who  will  guide  you  to  the  shore  at  a 
place  where  a  boat  may  be  obtained." 

It  was  now  the  young  man's  turn  to  shake  his 
head,  which  he  did  slowly  and  sadly  enough. 

''Nay,  my  fairest  lady,"  he  said  sententiously,  "I 
thank  you  from  my  heart,  but  it  cannot  be.  It 
shall  never  be  said  that  Adam  Home  took  another 
man's  horse  and  provend  without  asking  his  leave." 

"Is  not  this  somewhat  nice  in  a  man  who  by  his 
own  account  came  over  to  take  a  king's  crown?" 

"You  little  Whig!"  he  cried  admiringly.  "I 
knew  not  that  you  had  been  so  well  trained  in 
your  father's  opinions." 

"Nay,"  she  answered,  "'tis  all  the  same  to  me — 
one  way  or  the  other.  But  I  acknowledge  your 
side  hath  the  prettiest  fashions  in  dress,  and  also  the 
most  glosing  tongues.  So  for  the  safety  of  other 
poor  innocent  maids  I  ought  to  help  you  all  out  of 
the  country  as  fast  as  needs  be." 


22  Love   Idylls 


CHAPTER  IV 

A    LESSON    IN    ARCHITECTURE 

Bell  told  herself  that  she  liked  to  flout  this  sober- 
sides of  a  cavalier,  because  he  took  every  saucy 
saying  with  a  little  quick  uplift  of  the  head  which 
showed  him  unaccustomed  to  be  so  treated  by  any 
woman.  And  ever  as  soon  as  she  had  got  in  her 
shot,  she  knelt  down  and  fell  to  fitting  peats  with 
much  becoming  earnestness  and  innocence.  Adam 
Home  was  longer  this  time  in  finding  anything  to 
say  in  reply. 

At  last  he  broke  silence,  as  if  he  had  finished 
reviewing  the  whole  field. 

"Nay,  Mistress  Bell,"  he  said,  "I  sincerely  thank 
you  for  your  kind  and  courteous  offer.  It  is  well 
intended.  But  I  am  sure  that  Glenmorrison  would 
never  agree  to  it.  It  would  not  consort  well  with 
the  spirit  of  a  gentleman." 

Bell  looked  up  sharply. 

"Doth  it  consort  with  the  spirit  of  a  gentleman 
to  stand  with  his  thumbs  in  his  pocket-holes  while 
a  girl  fits  peats  on  her  knees?" 

Again  there  came  over  the  grave  face  the  startled 


The   Fitting   of  the   Peats  23 

look  which  the  minx  had  so  quickly  learned  to  try 
for  as  a  sufficient  reward. 

"My  dear  lady,"  he  cried,  with  a  quick  change  of 
mood,  "I  crave  a  thousand  pardons.  To  my  un- 
dying shame  I  had  not  observed  your  occupation, 
so  intent  was  I  on  yourself  and  my  wretched  affairs. 
Permit  me " 

He  knelt  down  beside  her,  and  at  the  first  at- 
tempt succeeded  in  knocking  over  no  less  than  five 
of  the  "fittings"  which  Bell  had  been  engaged  so 
busily  in  constructing  before  his  arrival,  and  which 
she  had  persevered  with  in  spite  of  so  many  inter- 
ruptions. 

The  girl  gave  a  little  cry  of  horror  on  thus  be- 
holding her  work  undone. 

"Hold — hold !"  she  cried,  "you  mistake.  These 
are  not  ninepins.  This  is  Millwharchar  peat  moor, 
not  a  skittle  alley.  That  is  not  the  way  to  fit  peats, 
but  thus — and  thus." 

And  seizing  his  wrists  she  showed  him  how  to 
take  the  first  peat,  set  it  angle-wise  on  its  stronger 
base,  face  and  balance  it  with  a  second,  buttress  it 
with  a  third,  and  finally,  having  built  a  fort  after 
the  manner  of  stooked  sheaves  in  a  harvest-field, 
how  to  put  the  all-important  "crown"  upon  the 
work — "to  turn  the  rain,"  as  Bell  explained  tech- 
nically. 


24  Love   Idylls 


"Now,"  she  said,  "take  care  that  you  do  it. 
exactly  right  after  this,  and  when  you  turn  round 
see  that  you  knock  no  more  of  my  'fittings'  down, 
or  else  they  will  say — 'What  blundering  bullock 
has  been  among  the  peats?'  " 

"  'Tis  the  first  time  that  ever  I  was  called  a 
blundering  bullock,"  said  the  young  man,  starting 
half  round  as  on  a  pivot  at  her  speech. 

"It  will  not  be  the  last  if  you  do  not  keep  more 
watch  over  your  feet,"  said  the  girl  with  a  vicious 
click  of  her  pretty  teeth;  "pray  endeavour  to  finish 
one  fair  job  without  whirling  round  every  moment 
like  a  teetotum." 

The  young  man  worked  a  while  in  silence,  feel- 
ing a  little  sullen  at  being  thus  thwarted  and  tanta- 
lised by  one  whom  he  had  thought  to  be  no  more 
than  an  ignorant  pretty  maiden  of  the  country. 
But  Bell's  saucily  unconscious  air  of  command 
piqued  him,  and  he  resolved  to  excel  in  the  occupa- 
tion to  which  he  had  been  set. 

It  was  not  long  before  she  looked  again. 

"Ah,  that  is  better — much  better,"  she  cried, 
sitting  upon  her  own  knees  and  letting  the  wide 
summer  bonnet  fall  back  from  her  head,  so  that  the 
latter  stood  out  against  the  sky  with  a  certain 
comely  and  shapely  determination.     Adam  Home 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  25 

thought  he  had  never  seen  the  like  anywhere 
before.  . 

He  did  not  feel  the  necessity  of  leaving  the 
country  to  be  so  pressing  or  immediate  as  it  had 
been. 

But  he  was  to  be  quickly  and  somewhat  un- 
pleasantly reminded  of  the  duty  on  which  he  had 
come.  For  at  the  very  moment  when  Bell  had 
again  taken  his  wrist  to  help  him  with  a  "fitting" 
of  peats  whose  moist  slipperiness  prevented  them 
from  being  easily  "set,"  a  shadow  fell  between 
them,  and  there,  within  three  yards,  stood  the 
figure  of  a  man,  silently  and,  as  it  appeared,  some- 
what contemptuously  regarding  their  occupation. 
Bell's  first  instinct  was  to  start  up  to  her  feet  and 
apologise  for  having  been  the  means  of  causing  her 
companion  to  be  discovered  at  so  trivial  a  task. 
But  after  one  glance  at  the  regardant  intruder,  the 
young  man  on  his  knees  went  calmly  on  with  his 
peat-fitting,  turning  his  head  to  the  side  and  study- 
ing the  architecture  after  the  manner  of  his  mis- 
tress, and  "hefting"  the  peats  in  his  hand  as  if  his 
whole  soul  were  in  the  work  before  him. 

The  new-comer  was  a  smallish  man  with  a  thin 
moustache,  which  he  kept  twisting  assiduously, 
black  eyebrows,  which,  thick  in  the  middle,  turned 
sharp  at  the  outer  corners  and  flashed  defiantly  up- 


26  Love   Idylls 


wards  like  feathers  in  a  Highland  bonnet,  with  an 
air  at  once  conceited  and  insolent. 

But  the  amateur  in  peat-fitting  was  not  intimi- 
dated by  his  attitude. 

"Ah,  Hector !"  was  all  that  he  said,  and  went  on 
calmly  with  his  work — so  different  is  the  effect  of  a 
supercilious  regard  in  man  and  in  woman.  Adam 
Home  had  responded  like  a  tuned  instrument  of 
strings  to  Bell's  disdainful  eyes  and  petulant  words, 
but  now  he  laboured,  apparently  unconscious  as 
any  hind,  at  his  menial  occupation  under  the  con- 
temptuous stare  of  another  man. 

The  figure  addressed  as  "Hector"  retained  its 
first  attitude  of  disapproving  reserve  for  some 
minutes,  but  as  neither  of  the  objects  of  contempt 
appeared  at  all  affected,  he  was  at  last  forced  to 
break  the  silence. 

"My  lord,"  he  said,  "you  seem  to  have  forgotten 
in  congenial  employment  the  purpose  for  which 
you  came  hither !" 

Adam  Home  glanced  sharply  up  at  him. 

"Keep  the  'my-lording'  for  the  next  campaign  in 
Flanders!"  he  said;  "I  am  no  lord  of  yours!" 

Bell  Mac  Lurg  rose  to  her  feet.  What  had  she 
been  doing?  A  lord — and  she  tried  to  think  over 
all  she  had  said  to  him.  The  tally  did  not  turn  out 
a  very  suitable  or  a  very  respectful  one. 


The   Fitting  of  the  Peats  27 

The  olive-skinned,  dark-moustached  man  made  a 
little  impatient  movement  with  his  foot. 

"No  man  is  the  lord  of  Hector  Faa — that  is  well 
enough  known  in  Galloway.  And  indeed,  if  I  may 
venture  to  remark,  it  ill  becomes  your — I  mean  it  is 
ill  befitting  one  in  your  situation  to  bandy  compli- 
ments or  waste  precious  time  when  the  scaffold  is 
as  near  you  and  your  friend  as  that  heather  buss  is 
near  me." 

And  he  stamped  on  a  tussock  of  heather-bells 
with  an  angry  gesture. 

Adam  Home  now  rose  to  his  feet  and  deliber- 
ately dusted  his  hands. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said;  "I  did  wrong  to  forget 
Glenmorrison  in  the  time  of  trouble  which  he 
shares  with  me.  I  crave  your  pardon,  Hector  Faa 
— now  let  us  go  down  to  the  house  of  Millwharchar 
and  speak  with  the  laird." 

The  man  addressed  as  Hector  Faa  started  back. 

"Nay,"  he  cried,  "not  I.  There  is  still  some 
sense  left  under  my  bonnet.  Hector  Faa  is  not 
going  to  venture  his  life,  unattended,  near  such  an 
old  heathenish  Cromwell  as  Ninian  Mac  Lurg  of 
Millwharchar!" 

"Then,"  said  Adam  Home  tranquilly,  "I  will  go 
alone — or  at  least  with  this  lady,  if  she  will  deign  to 
accompany  me." 


28  Love   Idylls 

The  little  dark  man  hesitated  a  moment.  Then 
with  great  deliberation  he  pulled  out  a  pistol,  half- 
cocked  it,  looked  to  the  priming,  and  anon  restored 
it  to  his  side  pocket.  Next  he  set  his  hand  upon 
his  thigh  and  half  drew  a  dagger  therefrom,  as  if 
to  ascertain  that  it  worked  easily  in  its  sheath. 

"Lead  on,"  he  said,  "you  shall  not  cast  it  up  that 
Hector  Faa  was  afraid  of  any  man  that  breathes. 
But  mind  you,  if  there  be  a  'tulzie,'  each  of  us  will 
look  only  to  the  safety  of  his  own  life.  This  is  no 
quarrel  or  occasion  of  mine !" 

And  this  is  the  reason  that  Bell  Mac  Lurg  came 
into  the  presence  of  her  father  Ninian,  Laird  of 
Millwharchar,  with  a  young  man  walking  doucely 
on  either  side  of  her. 


The   Fitting  of  the  Peats  29 


CHAPTER  V 
"god  save  king  george!" 

The  trio  arrived  at  the  little  loaning  shaded  with 
irregular  alders  and  birches  which  led  between  the 
two  "parks"  pertaining  to  the  house  of  Millwhar- 
char.  The  two  first  acquainted  were  maintaining 
a  brisk  conversation  on  the  merits  of  various  wild 
flowers,  Bell  preferring  the  wild  white  rose,  and 
Adam  Home  holding  out  for  the  modest  gowan, 
while  a  step  behind  them,  Hector  Faa,  with  his 
hand  in  the  flap  of  his  right  pistol-pocket,  listened 
with  a  smile  as  incredulous  as  it  was  contemptuous. 

Suddenly  a  turn  of  the  loaning  brought  them 
face  to  face  with  a  startling  apparition. 

"Halt  there  where  ye  stand,  or  prepare  forthwith 
to  meet  your  Maker!"  exclaimed  a  voice  stern  as 
the  law  and  all  the  prophets. 

The  young  people  looked  up  from  their  pleasant 
converse  of  word  with  word  and  glance  with 
glance.  Close  to  them,  and  elevated  a  little 
on  the  broad  stone  steps  of  the  farmhouse, 
stood  a  striking  and  almost  tremendous  figure. 
Coat    of    blue,    ancient    steeple-crowned    Puritan 


30  Love  Idylls 

hat  towering  above,  steel  breastplate  winking 
beneath,  buff  knee-breeches  covering  limbs  sturdy 
as  an  average  man's  body,  shoon  buckled  with 
huge  clasps  of  hammered  iron — thus  before  them, 
instant  and  minatory,  stood  Ninian  Mac  Lurg. 
His  long-stocked  brown  "Queen  Anne"  musket 
was  levelled  directly  at  Adam  Home,  a  second 
piece  stood  contiguous  to  his  hand,  and  the 
bare  blade  of  an  Andre  Ferrara  glittered  against 
the  wall  of  rough  harled  masonry  whereon  it  leaned 
hilt  upwards. 

Six  foot  six  in  height  stood  Ninian  Mac  Lurg, 
tough  as  an  ancient  oak,  keen-eyed  as  an  eagle, 
irascible  and  indomitable  as  in  all  Scotland  only 
he  could  be. 

"Oh,  father,"  cried  Bell,  "for  God's  sake  put 
down  your  gun.  These  gentlemen  are  in  trouble 
and  have  come  to  beg  your  assistance !" 

"Out  of  my  gate,  lassie,"  cried  her  father,  glanc- 
ing down  the  barrel  of  his  piece.  "Gentlemen,  for- 
sooth. They  are  rebels,  cave-lurkers,  sheep-steal- 
ers.  Make  your  peace  with  God,  gentlemen.  It 
was  an  ill  day  that  you  thought  to  cozen  Ninian 
Mac  Lurg  with  your  traitorous  speeches." 

Then  Bell,  white  with  terror,  threw  herself  in 
front  of  Adam  Home,  and  cried  to  her  father :  "Do 
not  shoot — it  was  my  fault.     I  brought  him  here. 


The  Fitting  of  the   Peats  31 

He  hath  a  sick  companion  who  needs  your  help. 
You  would  not  refuse  it,  for  your  heart  is  kind. 
Oh,  father,  be  forbearing  with  him !" 

The  eye  of  Ninian  Mac  Lurg  never  wavered 
along  the  levelled  tube. 

"Take  your  hand  out  of  your  pocket-hole,  little, 
ugly,  gipsy  man — one,  two,  three — out  with  it !  I 
thank  you.  Now,  long  man  with  the  tashed  coat, 
say  after  me,  with  your  hands  held  up  to  heaven, 
'God  save  King  George  and  confound  Jamie  the 
Pretender!  You  have  till  I  count  thirty  to  save 
your  life !" 

Hector  Faa's  hand,  which,  obedient  to  the  first 
invitation,  had  been  reluctantly  withdrawn  from 
the  vicinty  of  his  pistol,  now  began  to  return  even 
more  stealthily.  But  he  reckoned  without  his 
host. 

"Your  hands  above  your  head,  little  man — so ! — 
as  you  hope  for  a  moment's  longer  life  keep  them 
there.  Now,  sir  to  your  catechism.  Say  after  me, 
'God  save  King  George.'  " 

Up  to  this  moment  Adam  Home's  fingers  had 
been  busy  with  the  gowan  which  he  had  pulled  to 
illustrate  his  argument  with  Bell.  But  he  turned 
to  that  maiden  now,  as  her  father  began  to  count 
slowly,  "One — two — three,"  in  an  audible  voice,  he 
said:  "Mistress  Bell,  you  were  right;  will  you  give 


32  Love   Idylls 

me  that  rose  from  your  neck  in  exchange  for  my 
go  wan?  I  think  after  all  it  is  the  finer  and  fairer 
flower.     At  least,  I  love  the  better  to  wear  it." 

"Fourteen — fifteen — sixteen,"  came  the  steady 
count,  and  the  shining  barrel  never  wavered. 

"Oh,  take  it,"  cried  Bell,  "take  it  and  say  what 
he  tells  you — for  my  sake  say  it.  My  father  is  a 
man  of  his  word.  I  will  never  be  saucy  again;  I 
will  do  anything  you  wish  if  only  this  once  you  will 
say  'God  save  King  George.'  " 

The  young  man  smiled  patiently  and  a  little 
wistfully. 

"For  your  sake  I  would  if  I  could  at  all,  sweetest 
maid,"  he  said,  but  the  true  King  is  more  to  me 
than  life — more  even  than  love !" 

"Twenty-three — twenty-four — twenty-five." 

Adam  Home  instinctively  put  his  petitioner  at 
arm's  length  from  him,  and  with  a  quiet  and  as- 
sured mein  fitted  the  white  rose  to  his  button-hole, 
first  reverently  kissing  the  emblem  of  the  Stewart 
race,  which  was  now  also  a  lady's  favour. 

He  was  adjusting  it  to  his  satisfaction,  and  giv- 
ing a  little  pat  to  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  when  the 
inexorable  voice  from  the  doorstep  counted  on 
level  and  monotonous,  "Twenty-eight — twenty- 
nine " 

"Crash !"   went   the   Queen   Anne   musket,   the 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  33 

sound  echoing  loudly  against  the  barn  and  byres 
of  Millwharchar,  and  presently,  after  an  appreciable 
interval,  being  tossed  back  from  the  dark  recesses 
of  the  wood. 

The  young  man  Adam  Home  stood  for  a 
moment  after  the  report  in  his  ordinary  attitude  of 
careless  ease.  Then  all  suddenly  he  swayed, 
clapped  his  hand  on  his  right  side,  gripped  himself, 
as  it  were,  and  turning  to  Bell  with  his  other  hand 
he  raised  his  hat. 

"I  fear  that  I  need  not  trouble  you  any  longer," 
he  said  courteously,  "but  I  am  infinitely  indebted 
to  you — indebted  to  you — indebted " 

And  the  hand  that  had  held  the  hat  aloft  sinking 
heavily  down,  its  owner  slowly  pitched  forward 
rather  than  fell,  and  lay  motionless  on  his  face 
among  the  straw  which  cumbered  the  yard. 


34  Love   Idylls 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  PLASTERED  DOOR 

At  the  first  pull  of  Ninian  Mac  Lurg's  finger  on 
the  trigger  Hector  Faa  had  dodged  like  a  weasel 
behind  a  red-bodied  mountain  cart,  and  now  his 
pistol  barrel  glanced  over  the  back  bar  with  the 
sharp  eye  of  the  hill  gipsy  twinkling  small  and 
bright  behind  it  like  the  eye  of  a  bird. 

The  Laird  of  Millwharchar  had  not,  however, 
expended  his  whole  magazine  at  one  shot.  He 
seized  the  gun  which  stood  against  the  wall  by  the 
barrel,  and  cocking  it,  he  advanced  resolutely 
towards  the  fugitive  entrenched  behind  the  trail- 
cart. 

Hector  Faa's  teeth  gradually  uncovered,  and  he 
waited  till  his  assailant  was  within  a  dozen  paces 
and  then  fired;  the  bullet,  being  well  aimed,  struck 
the  second  musket  upon  the  side  of  the  lock, 
glancing  off,  however,  and  flattening  itself  against 
the  wall  without  doing  any  damage. 

"The  God  of  battles  hath  delivered  the  wicked 
into  my  hands!"  cried  Ninian  Mac  Lurg,  as  he 
caught    the   trail-cart    suddenly   by   the  pole   and 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  35 


turned  it  over,  almost  but  not  quite  upon  the  top 
of  Hector  Faa.  For  that  active  man  of  the  hills, 
seeing  his  position,  and  acknowledging  defeat  as 
readily  as  victory,  instantly  fled,  leaving  his  dis- 
charged pistol  on  the  ground,  so  anxious  was  he  to 
avoid  underlying  the  tender  mercies  of  the  Laird  of 
Millwharchar.  He  sped  across  the  courtyard, 
almost  bowed  to  the  ground,  and  ran  with  all  his 
power  for  the  heather. 

Ninian  turned  about  for  his  Ferrara  blade.  He 
had  a  score  of  steps  to  go  back  to  recover  it,  which 
gave  the  nimble  fugitive  a  considerable  start.  But 
in  a  moment  it  was  in  his  hand,  and,  with  his  great 
body  thrown  forward  and  every  nerve  strained,  the 
laird  took  up  the  chase  as  eagerly  and  determinedly 
as  if  twenty-six  instead  of  sixty-two  had  been  the 
number  of  his  years. 

But  Hector  Faa  had  a  long  start,  and  strain  as  he 
would,  Ninian  could  not  overtake  him  nor  reduce 
by  an  appreciable  inch  the  distance  between  them. 
Nevertheless,  he  held  staunchly  on  in  this  fashion, 
and,  separated  by  an  interval  of  no  more  than  a 
hundred  yards,  pursuer  and  pursued  plunged  into 
the  dark  shades  of  the  wood  of  Larbrax. 

Bell,  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  pity,  was  left 
alone  with  the  wounded  man.  With  a  great  effort 
of  strength  she  turned  him  over,  till  his  head  rested 


36  Love   Idylls 


on  her  shoulder.  She  was  surprised  to  feel  how 
light  and  supple  he  was.  She  thought  that  she 
could  almost  carry  him  in  her  arms. 

But  at  this  moment  her  two  brothers,  Alec  and 
John,  came  into  the  courtyard,  and  stood  as- 
tonished to  find  their  eldest  sister  with  the  head  of 
a  wounded  man  on  her  shoulder. 

"Bell,"  the  two  lads  cried  simultaneously,  "what 
in  the  world  are  you  doing  with  the  man?" 

"Come  and  help  this  instant,  great  gomerils," 
replied  that  acrid  maiden;  "think  you  that  I  am 
playing  'J00^  mv  Joe'  about  the  stacks  on  Hal- 
loween?" 

Alec  and  John  approached  gingerly,  looking 
around  for  their  father  as  they  did  so,  with  a  glance 
which  told  much  of  the  Spartan  nature  of  their 
upbringing. 

"Who  is  he?  And  what  are  you  going  to  do 
with  him?" 

"He  is  a  young  lord  who  came  to  ask  a  favour  of 
my  father,"  said  Bell,  "and  he  has  shotten  him. 
And,  oh,  if  he  dies,  our  father  will  hang.  Come — 
help  me  with  him  to  the  old  stable-laft  of  Larbrax. 
Will  Begbie  will  hide  him  there,  or  I  shall  know 
the  reason  why." 

The  lads  demurred.  It  was  a  good  half  mile  to 
the  deserted   steading  of  Larbrax.     Their  father 


The  Fitting  of  the  Peats  37 

might  return.     What  would  they  say  to  him  when 
he  came  back  and  found  the  wounded  man  gone? 

"Leave  all  that  to  me,"  cried  Bell;  "say  not  a 
word  to  the  other  lasses.  They  would  only  throw 
up  their  hands  and  fall  over  in  dwawms* — every 
way  at  once,  like  heavy  corn  on  a  wet  day.  Take 
hold  of  him,  I  say." 

And  so  with  their  imperious  sister  at  the  head, 
Alec  in  the  midst,  and  John  at  the  feet,  they  laid 
Adam  Home  on  a  dismounted  door  which  stood  at 
the  back  of  the  byre,  and  prepared  to  carry  him  to 
the  stable  loft  of  Larbrax. 

As  the  lads  paced  slowly  with  their  burden  down 
the  loaning  and  across  the  green  pasture-lands, 
there  came  back  to  them  no  sight  or  sound  of  the 
chase.  Not  a  tree-top  waved  nor  a  smooth  swell 
of  hazel  copse  parted  before  the  rush  of  pursuer  and 
pursued. 

Alec  and  John  soon  tired  of  their  burden,  and 
Bell  had  to  threaten  and  cajole  them  time  about,  to 
make  them  keep  to  their  work.  At  last  to  shame 
them  she  took  a  turn  at  the  foot  of  the  door,  re- 
lieving John,  who  sulked  along  after  them.  Her 
arms  were  almost  dragged  from  their  sockets,  and 
there  was  a  tearing  stitch  in  her  side  which  threat- 
ened to  deprive  her  of  breath  altogether. 

♦Fainting  Fits. 


38  Love  Idylls 

As  she  looked  at  the  young  man,  he  appeared  to 
wear  the  self-same  smile  with  which  he  had  thanked 
her  for  the  white  rose,  and  her  heart  prayed  that 
he  might  not  be  dead,  and  the  dishonour  for  ever 
laid  upon  her  fathers  head  that  he  had  shot  down 
an  unarmed  and  unresisting  man  upon  his  own 
doorstep. 

Even  as  she  stumbled  along,  biting  her  lips  with 
the  effort  not  to  cry  out  and  drop  the  board  on 
which  Adam  Home  lay  stretched  out,  the  eyes  of 
the  wounded  man  were  slowly  opened.  Con- 
sciousness struggled  back  into  them.  Seeing  Bell 
at  his  feet,  he  strove  to  raise  himself,  but  with  a 
determined  shake  of  the  head  she  motioned  him  to 
lie  still  where  he  wras. 

Then  John,  who  had  been  gradually  growing 
ashamed  of  himself,  craved  that  she  should  let  him 
back  to  his  place,  but  Bell,  with  a  new  strength  in 
her  veins  from  the  knowledge  that  he  was  alive, 
would  not  surrender  her  post,  and  permitted  him 
only  to  help  in  Alec's  place  at  the  side. 

In  this  wise  came  the  procession  into  the  silent 
courtyard  of  the  old  farm  town  of  Larbrax.  Now 
the  "stable-laft"  into  which  Bell  proposed  to  con- 
vey Adam  Home  was  of  peculiar  construction,  and 
had  obviously  been  built  to  suit  the  needs  of  diffi- 
cult and  dangerous  times. 


The  Fitting  of  the  Peats  39 

It  was,  in  fact,  not  upon  the  top  of  the  stable  at 
all,  but  over  the  barn.  That  storehouse  of  fodder 
and  sheaves  had  been  originally  built  with  a  double 
roof,  the  inner  being  of  less  steep  slant  than  the 
outer,  leaving  a  space  of  some  five  feet  high  all 
along  the  length  of  the  barn.  This  was  entered 
from  the  real  stable-loft  by  a  wall-press,  of  which 
the  back  was  composed  of  wood  roughly  plastered 
over  to  imitate  stone. 

This  had  been  for  many  years  the  hiding-place 
to  which  resorted  a  former  goodman  of  Larbrax, 
one  Gideon  Begbie,  the  grandfather  of  young  Will, 
present  tenant  of  the  farm,  during  the  days  of 
Charles's  persecution. 

It  was  with  some  pain  and  no  small  difficulty 
that  Adam  Home  was  carried  up  the  narrow  ladder 
which  led  to  the  outer  loft.  From  thence  the  road 
was  easier,  but  the  wounded  man  had  to  endure 
many  a  pang  before  he  found  himself  deposited  on 
a  bed  of  clean  straw,  with  the  little  green  skylight 
carefully  extracted  and  placed  among  the  thatch  in 
order  to  let  in  the  air  and  a  glimpse  of  the  blue  sky. 

Then  at  last,  sending  off  the  lads  Alec  and  John, 
lest  her  father  should  have  arrived  home  before 
them,  Bell  kneeled  beside  Adam  Home,  and  cut 
away  the  waistcoat  and  fine  shirt  from  the  wound, 
the  locality  of  which  was  all  too  easily  discoverable 


40  Love   Idylls 


by  the  oozing  red  which  dyed  with  a  fresher  scarlet 
the  faded  red  of  his  military  undercoat. 

Bell  found  it  necessary  to  descend  from  the  loft, 
to  find  a  basin,  to  fill  it  at  the  spring,  tear  a  piece 
of  soft  material  from  her  kirtle,  before  again  re- 
turning to  find  her  patient  propped  higher  on  his 
bolster  of  straw. 

"This  is  kind  of  you,"  he  said,  but  she  could 
only  answer  him  with  her  tears,  as  she  bent  ten- 
derly to  bathe  the  wound.  The  bullet,  she  found, 
had  made  a  long,  tearing  cut,  glancing  along  the 
rib,  but  turning  off  through  the  coat  before  reach- 
ing the  backbone. 

"Will  you  tell  me  exactly  what  it  looks  like?"  said 
Adam  Home.  "I  am  enough  of  a  surgeon  to  know 
whether  or  not  it  is  dangerous." 

Bell  checked  her  sobs  in  order  to  obey  him. 

"That  is  well,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "yet  I  fear  much 
I  shall  be  a  trouble  to  you  for  some  time.  But  where 
am  I  at  this  moment?" 

The  girl  told  him  that  he  was  at  the  old  and  de- 
serted farm-steading  of  Larbrax  and  in  perfect 
safety — that  no  one  but  the  owner,  Will  Begbie,  ever 
came  there.  "And,"  added  Bell,  "I  can  readily  make 
Will  see  matters  as  he  ought." 

The  wounded  man  took  a  swift  glance  at  her  as 
she  attentively  bound  up  the  wound  with  strips  of 


The   Fitting  of  the  Peats  41 

her  kirtle,  till  she  had  extemporised  as  good  a  dress- 
ing as  was  possible  in  the  circumstances. 

Then,  leaving  the  last  strip  of  cloth  she  could 
spare  wet  upon  his  brow,  and  promising  soon  to  re- 
turn, Bell  tripped  down  the  ladder  and  carefully 
closed  the  door  behind  her  which  separated  the  two 
lofts  above  the  stable  and  barn  of  the  deserted  home- 
stead. 


42  Love   Idylls 


CHAPTER  VII 

WILL  BEGBIE  HAS  A  SORE  HEART 

Arrived  at  the  outer  air,  Bell  went  in  search  of 
Will  Begbie.  She  would  find  him,  she  was  sure,  at 
the  new  farm  town,  where  he  resided  with  an  old 
housekeeper,  by  name  Tibby  Lee,  and  a  shepherd  or 
two,  whose  duties  kept  them  all  day  on  the  hill.  But 
upon  her  arrival  there  she  found  silence  in  the  wide 
spaces  of  the  yard,  broken  only  by  the  "chunnering" 
of  the  hens  in  their  dust  baths  under  the  bank. 
Silence  dominated  the  house  when  Bell  stood  on  the 
steps  and  called  "Will  I"  Then,  when  at  last  she 
mustered  courage  to  open  the  door  by  lifting  the  iron 
latch  with  its  new-fangled,  broad  thumb-piece,  her 
call  of  "Will,  I  want  you !"  was  answered  only  by  the 
pushing  back  of  a  wooden  chair  as  Yarrow,  his  half- 
blind  old  collie,  rose  from  beneath  the  kitchen  table 
and  came  enquiringly  to  the  door. 

But  Yarrow  could  not  inform  Bell  where  his  mas- 
ter was,  though  he  thrust  a  moist  nose  of  sympathy 
into  her  hand,  so  she  had  to  seek  further.  On  a 
bench  in  the  new  barn  was  a  tankard  from  which  the 


The  Fitting  of  the   Peats  43 


ale  had  been  so  recently  drained  that  the  yellow  froth 
bubbles  had  not  yet  had  time  to  reach  the  bottom. 
The  girl's  voice  rang  through  the  wide  dusky  spaces 
from  threshing-floor  to  rafters. 

"Will— Will— O  Will— I  want  you!" 

But  through  the  open  door  which  looked  out 
among  the  late  blossoming  trees  of  the  orchard,  the 
echo  answered  mockingly  "Want  you!" 

Bell  next  skirted  the  office  houses  to  a  little  rocky 
knoll  from  which  she  could  discern  both  the  old  and 
the  new  farm  towns  of  Larbrax,  and  also  the  house 
of  Millwharchar  lying  higher  up  the  valley. 

But  Will  Begbie  was  not  to  be  seen.  The  sound 
of  a  gun  or  pistol,  dull  and  far  away,  alarmed  her, 
and  she  set  her  hand  to  her  heart.  Was  the  guilt 
of  shedding  innocent  blood  to  fall  twice  in  one  day 
upon  her  father?  Or  had  the  violent  man  perished 
in  his  own  violence,  as  Bell  had  often  heard  it  proph- 
esied in  the  kirk. 

The  girl  was  heartsick  and  distressed.  She 
thought  with  a  sharp  self-reproach,  mingled  with  a 
wild  pleasure  of  how  the  young  man  in  the  tarnished 
officer's  dress  had  helped  her  with  the  peat-fitting. 
She  recounted  to  herself  (after  the  manner  of 
women)  how  often  their  hands  had  touched  each 
other,  and  especially  she  recalled  again  that  quick, 
backward  fling  of  the  head  as  often  she  broke  the 


44  Love   Idylls 

crust  of  his  formality  with  her  daring  pleasan- 
tries. 

"It  is  all  Will  Begbie's  fault — he  ought  to  be  here 
when  I  want  him — Lord  knows  he  is  often  enough  in 
the  way  when  I  don't !" 

"Will  Begbie  is  here,  Mistress  Isobel !"  said  a  tall, 
fresh-complexioned  youth  attired  in  the  sober  cos- 
tume of  a  well-doing  yeoman.  "In  what  can  I  serve 
you?" 

"Indeed,  Will  Begbie,  there  is  much  that  you  can 
do,"  said  Bell,  dashing  into  her  explanation  before 
she  lost  courage.  "My  father  shot  a  young  rebel, 
and  I  have  had  him  carried  to  the  old  barn  over  by 
there.  He  lies  in  the  secret  laft.  You  do  not  mind, 
do  you?" 

Bell  lifted  up  beseeching  eyes  wet  with  recent  tears 
to  the  youth  who  stood  before  her.  He  in  his  turn  set 
his  fingers  underneath  his  bonnet  sideways,  and  tilt- 
ing it  a  little,  scratched  his  head  with  a  quaint  per- 
plexity. 

"A  dead  man — a  murdered  man  in  my  barn,  and 
your  father  did  it?"  he  said  with  an  appreciable  in- 
terval between  each  statement. 

"Neither  a  dead  man  nor  yet,  even  if  he  had  been 
dead,  a  man  murdered  by  my  father.  He  is  a  rebel 
officer,  and  came  to  ask  succour  and  safe  conduct. 


The  Fitting  of  the  Peats  45 

It  was  my  fault.  I  brought  him.  But  my  father, 
being  an  angry,  hot  man,  would  not  listen  to  a  word, 
and  gave  him  only  half  a  minute  to  cry  'God  save 
King  George.'  Then  when  he  would  not  thus  be 
hurried  into  loyalty,  my  father  shot  him  down.  So 
I  have  brought  him  to  you,  that  you  may  look  after 
him  and  then  help  him  to  escape  from  the  country." 

Will  Begbie  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other 
uneasily.  "Bell,"  he  said  doubtfully,  "you  know  not 
what  you  ask.  It  is  rank  treason  to  conceal  a  rebel, 
and  it  might  go  against  my  neck  were  it  known.  Be- 
sides I  am  a  good  King  George's  man,  and  so  was 
my  father  before  me." 

Bell  flashed  a  small  key  from  her  pocket,  and  leap- 
ing to  her  feet  and  thrusting  it  under  his  nose,  she 
cried  out  indignantly,  "Here,  take  it — there  is  the 
key  of  the  secret  laft.  Go  and  betray  the  man  that 
trusted  you,  betray  me  that  thought  better  of  you 
than  of  any  of  her  own  folk.  Go  and  bring  the  red 
soldiers  up  from  Creebridge.  But  never  from  this 
day  forth  look  the  road  Bell  Mac  Lurg  is  on,  till  the 
day  you  die  the  death  of  a  traitor  and  a  spy !" 

The  colour  faded  gradually  from  the  fresh  rustic 
face  with  its  honesty  of  purpose  and  plainness  of 
intent. 

"Nay,  Bell,"  he  stammered,  "I  meant  nothing  of 


46  Love   Idvlls 


the  kind.  I  was  just  a  little  taken  aback  at  the  first 
go  off.  I  will  never  betray  any  that  trusted  me.  I 
will  go  and  see  the  man  now.  Will  you  accompany 
me?" 

"Thank  you,  Will.  I  knew  you  would  see  reason. 
You  always  can  be  convinced.  But  before  you  go, 
can  you  think  of  any  kindly  silent  man  with  the  skill 
of  a  surgeon?  There  is  none  that  I  can  remember 
but  Dominie  Duncan  Robison  over  at  the  clachan. 
He  has  the  name  of  great  skill.  Can  you  advise 
me  if  with  his  official  position  we  could  count  on  his 
holding  his  tongue  in  the  matter  of  the  rebel  ?" 

The  slower  wits  of  Will  Begbie  revolved  the  prob- 
lem a  while  and  looked  at  it  from  all  points.  "I  think 
it  would  do,"  he  said.  "They  whisper  cannily  that 
Duncan,  being  a  Highlandman  himself,  hath  a  warm 
side  to  the  King  ower  the  water.  At  least  I  am  sure 
he  would  deal  kindly  with  the  old  man." 

"I  said  not  that  the  rebel  was  an  old  man,  Will," 
said  Bell  quickly;  "he  is  not  so  very  old." 

"I  will  go  and  see  him,"  said  the  farmer  of  Lar- 
brax  with  less  exuberance  of  spirits  than  he  had  hith- 
erto shown.  And  this  time  he  did  not  invite  Bell  to 
accompany  him. 

They  walked  together,  however,  to  the  old  farm 
town,  and  then  Will  Begbie  went  up  alone.     When 


The  Fitting  of  the   Peats  47 


he  came  down  ten  minutes  after  his  face  was  altered. 
It  was  sterner,  older,  as  if  he  himself  had  been 
wounded  to  the  death. 

"I  will  do  it,  Bell,"  he  said,  ''but  mind  it  is  for  your 
sake  I  will  help  this  man  to  escape  out  of  the  coun- 
try." 

"And  partly  for  my  own !"  he  added  to  himself. 


48  Love   Idylls 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  SEED  FOR  NEXT  YEARNS  GARDEN 

Bell's  father  did  not  return  to  Millwharchar  till 
late  at  night,  and  when  he  came  in  none  dared  ask  a 
question  of  him  as  he  set  himself  down  by  the  fire, 
now  gloomily  staring  at  the  sullen  glow  of  the  peat 
ashes  and  now  rubbing  briskly  at  the  blade  of  his 
Andrea. 

Suddenly  he  flung  a  question  at  Bell,  and  the  lads, 
who  sat  by  the  slender  illumination  of  a  candle  pre- 
tending to  read,  trembled  till  their  chap  books  shook 
like  willow  leaves  in  a  westerly  wind. 

"What  came  of  the  young  rebel  that  I  shot?" 

Bell  had  been  expecting  the  question  ever  since  she 
had  heard  her  father's  step  on  the  threshold,  and  she 
had  been  prepared  for  it  long  before  that. 

"Some  ill-looking  gangrel  lads  came  down  from 
the  hills  and  carried  him  off,  we  know  not  where," 
she  answered,  looking  at  Alec  and  John,  daring  them 
to  say  a  word. 

"Some  of  Hector  Faa's  crew  of  rascals,  I  doubt 
not,"  grumbled  her  father.    "Hark  ye,  Mistress  Bell, 


The   Fitting   of  the   Peats  49 

never  let  me  hear  of  you  passing  word  of  mouth  with 
any  belonging  to  that  gang,  or  I  will  banish  you  from 
my  fireside,  never  to  return." 

"Yes,  father,"  said  Bell  meekly,  thinking  that  in 
certain  circumstances  she  could  imagine  worse  fates 
than  such  perpetual  exile. 

Under  the  skilful  leechdom  of  the  dominie,  who 
proved  as  silent  and  willing  as  Will  Begbie  had  fore- 
told, and  the  bright  occasional  visits  of  Bell  to  his 
lonely  garret,  the  wounded  man  recovered  quickly. 
But  Will  Begbie  never  went  from  home  to  kirk  or 
market  all  the  time  that  Adam  Home  lay  in  the  secret 
loft  above  the  old  barn.  And  only  on  one  occasion 
did  Bell  see  her  invalid  alone.  So  anxious  was  Will 
to  preserve  him  from  intrusion,  and  guard  him  from 
all  excitement,  that  he  frequented  the  old  farm  town 
more  than  he  had  done  in  twenty  years,  and  his  ap- 
petite became  so  insatiable  and  abnormal  that  his  an- 
cient housekeeper  Betty  was  heard  to  declare  that 
"she  kenned  na  what  had  ta'en  Maister  Willie — for 
that  it  wasna  ae  meal  o'  meat  that  he  could  eat,  but 
three  a'  at  a  doonsittin' — and  never  a  crumb  left  to 
show  for  it !" 

The  solitary  exception  to  Will  Begbie's  unsleeping 
watchfulness  chanced  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  be- 
fore Adam  Home  and  his  friend  Glenmorrison  were 
to  sail  as  castaway  foreign  sailors  of  no  particular 


50  Love  Idylls 

nationality  in  a  lugger  which  was  putting  out  from 
the  Ferry  Port  of  Cree.  Will  had  been  called  away 
suddenly  by  a  message  that  one  of  his  horses  had 
fallen  into  a  moss-hole  on  the  march  between  Lar- 
brax  and  Millwharchar  Moor.  The  message  was 
brought  by  John  Mac  Lurg,  and  its  genuineness  was 
somewhat  suspect,  owing  to  the  fact  that  John  was 
seen  to  spend  one  silver  crown  on  a  new  thistle 
buckle  for  his  bonnet,  and  another  on  parti-coloured 
ribands  for  the  lasses  over  at  the  clachan  that  night, 
where,  as  it  happened,  a  travelling  chapman  was  dis- 
playing his  wares,  and  driving  a  brisk  trade. 

At  any  rate,  the  horse  was  definitely  and  indubi- 
tably in  the  bog,  and  had  to  be  extricated  with  ropes. 
Nevertheless,  so  strange  is  chance,  that  before  Will 
was  over  the  hill,  Bell  Mac  Lurg  had  set  John  to 
guard  the  approaches  of  the  old  farm-steading,  and 
had  gone  up  to  say  farewell  to  Adam. 

She  found  him  wearing  a  coat  of  Will  Begbie's, 
while  his  own,  carefully  mended  and  brushed,  hung 
on  a  nail  behind  him.  He  was  pale,  but  was  able  to 
rise  so  far  as  the  low  rafters  would  allow  him  to 
greet  her  entrance. 

"You  are  going  to  leave  us  to-morrow,"  said  Bell, 
after  the  pause  that  follows  most  salutations;  "how 
glad  you  must  be!" 

"I  shall  indeed  be  glad  that  I  am  again  to  see  the 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  51 

sky  and  breathe  the  unconditioned  air,"  he  said, 
dropping  into  his  old  ornate  diction;  "but  I  grieve 
that  I  can  receive  no  more  such  angel  visits  as  this. 
I  can  never  repay  that  which  you  have  done  for  me. 
But  neither  will  I  ever  forget.  In  happier  times  I 
shall  return.  There  are  even  now  good  friends  in 
high  place  who  urge  me  to  make  my  peace  with  the 
Government.  Also  I  think  that  they  themselves  will 
soon  have  had  enough  of  the  axe  to  satisfy  even 
Hanoverian  tastes." 

Bell  and  Adam  Home  sat  on  two  stools  looking  at 
each  other,  awkward  as  a  couple  of  school-children 
left  alone  when  the  master  is  out  and  they  know  not 
when  he  will  return. 

A  light  quizzical  smile  came  over  Adam's  face. 

"If  I  come  back  next  year  in  time  for  the  peat- 
fitting,  will  you  give  me  the  rest  of  my  lesson?" 

Bell  was  silent,  but  a  deep  flush  slowly  covered  her 
face. 

"Do  not "  she  said ;  "be  a  little  generous.  You 

are  a  great  man.  I  heard  Hector  Faa  call  you  'my 
lord.'  And  though  after  a  fashion  you  explained  his 
words,  yet  I  have  not  seen  you  so  much  without 
knowing  that  you  belong  to  a  different  world  from 
that  in  which  we  simple  folk  of  Galloway  dwell. 
Leave  us  alone  to  our  dull  lives.  We  have  done  our 
best  to  help  you  to  life  again,  as  one  Christian  should 


52  Love   Idylls 


help  another.  But  do  not  come  back,  I  pray  you  do 
not  come  back !" 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  now,  and  Adam 
Home  thought  he  had  never  seen  them  so  large  and 
beautiful,  deep  as  the  cloudless  zenith  before  the  sun- 
rising.    He  came  forward  and  took  both  her  hands. 

There  came  a  whistle  up  the  stairs. 

"Haste  ye — haste  ye,  Bell,"  cried  her  brother  from 
the  ladder  foot;  "they  have  shifted  the  horse  beast 
out  of  the  mire!" 

Adam  Home  stood  by  the  plastered  door.  He 
held  Bell's  hands  a  moment  in  his.  "I  have  not  the 
right  now!"  he  said,  looking  down  at  her  lips  and 
blushful  face,  "but  when  the  roses  bloom  and  the 
peats  are  fitted,  I  will  come  again,  and  ask  for  what 
I  dare  not  take !" 

"Ah,  do  not !"  she  began,  but  could  get  no 

further.  For,  with  a  courtesy  such  as  she  had  only 
dreamed  of,  he  lifted  the  fingers  of  the  Bonnet 
Laird's  daughter  to  his  lips  and  respectfully  kissed 
them.  Then  with  a  resolute  hand  he  shut  the  door 
after  her. 

Next  day  at  the  fair  at  Cree  Bridge,  as  Bell  stood 
by  the  little  jetty  which  protruded  into  the  brown 
tidal  water,  a  tanned  foreign  sailor  with  a  red  knitted 
cap  on  his  head  came  limping  past. 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  53 

"Will  you  buy  a  purse,  pretty  lady?"  he  said  in 
broken  English. 

Bell  knew  the  voice  at  once.  It  was  that  of  Adam 
Home.  But  she  could  not  find  a  word  with  which  to 
answer  him. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  said  aloud,  as  if  he  had  re- 
ceived a  price,  and,  touching  his  cap,  he  moved  away. 
She  saw  him  get  on  board  the  lugger,  which 
looked  so  slight  and  frail  a  craft  in  which  to  cross 
the  wide  seas  to  France,  yet  had  proved  herself 
capable  by  many  a  successful  voyage  to  Fecamp  and 
Le  Havre. 

The  tide  being  full,  the  rope  was  immediately  cast 
off,  and  with  a  favourable  wind  the  boat  moved  off, 
while  the  wake  whitened  and  followed  like  a  furrow 
after  a  plough. 

Bell  stood  on  the  quay  and  watched.  The  foreign 
sailor  took  off  his  red  cap  and  swung  it  about  his 
head.  Bell's  hand  wavered  piteously  up  in  reply,  but 
dropped  again  in  a  moment,  as  if  ashamed  of  its  own 
daring.  Then,  as  she  turned  away,  she  eagerly 
opened  the  purse.  It  contained  nothing  but  a  with- 
ered white  rose. 

"What  have  you  got  there  in  that  old  purse,  Bell  ?" 
said  Will  Begbie  cheerily  in  her  ear. 

He  had  rid  himself  of  the  rebel  officer,  and,  since 


54 


Love   Idylls 


he  knew  nothing  of  John  Mac  Lurg's  vigil,  his  heart 
pulsed  light  and  secure  within  his  bosom. 

"Tell  me — what  have  you  stowed  away  so  secretly 
and  anxiously  in  that  old  purse?"  he  cried  again. 

"Nothing  but  a  seed  for  next  year's  garden!" 
answered  Mistress  Isobel  Mac  Lurg. 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  $5 


PART  II 

CHAPTER  IX 

THE  BRIDGE  OF  AVIGNON 

Adam  stretched  himself  wearily  as  he  rose  and 
looked  about  him.  He  had  been  sitting  beneath  the 
arid  and  insufficient  shade  of  a  grey  olive,  whose 
dustily  silver  leaves  shivered  and  rustled  and  rubbed 
their  edges  together  even  in  the  windless  noon  of 
May  with  a  certain  curious  suggestion  of  life  not 
wholly  vegetable. 

"I  wonder  what  keeps  Glenmorrison,"  he  said  to 
himself ;  "he  is  always  late  nowadays !" 

Adam  Home  heaved  a  long  sigh. 

"After  all,"  he  continued,  "he  has  nothing  else 
to  do,  so  he  may  just  as  well  take  up  procrastination 
as  a  business.  There  is  no  other  advantage  in  being 
in  this  horrible  place!" 

And  yet  there  were  few  scenes  more  beautiful 
within  the  bounds  of  the  world  than  that  upon  which 
Adam  Home  looked  down,  as  he  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders and  blinked  with  eyes  half  closed  in  order  to 


56  Love   Idylls 


shut  out  the  heat  and  the  dust  of  that  high  glorious 
day  in  early  summer. 

He  saw  a  red-roofed  sunny  city,  full  of  Oriental 
suggestion,  with  wide  balconies  of  scrolled  iron- 
work and  closed  sun-blinds.  He  looked  upon  a  rip- 
pling river,  spanned  by  an  ancient  bridge,  somewhat 
ruinous  indeed,  upon  whose  broken  arches  the  chil- 
dren joined  hands  and  sang  a  quaint  and  moving 
ditty.  And  as  the  burgher  folk  went  past. upon  the 
river  bank  and  heard  them,  husbands  and  wives 
clasped  hands  instinctively  and  smiled  at  each  other, 
always  saying  the  same  words  and  always  moved 
with  memories  of  the  days  when  they  too  sang — 

Upon  the  Bridge  of  Avignon, 
We're  dancing  round, 
Dancing  round ! 

Beyond,  lifting  its  yellow-white  masses  of  build- 
ing against  a  sky  which  was  just  beginning  to  take 
on  its  summer  look  of  brass  towards  the  zenith,  ex- 
tended the  castle  and  palace  of  the  Popes  of  Avignon. 

But  Adam  Home  was  tired  of  the  brilliant  little 
southern  city.  He  had  grown  to  hate  Rome  en 
poche.  He  was  tired  even  of  the  loyalty  that  kept 
him  there,  tired  of  drawing  money  drop  by  drop 
from  a  poor  tenantry  to  lend  it  to  a  Prince,  who, 
though  far  from  ungrateful,  immediately  forgot  that 


The  Fitting  of  the   Peats  $y 

he  had  received  it,  and  went  off  to  expose  his  dis- 
tresses to  some  other  adherent  suspected  of  having 
received  a  more  recent  remittance  from  home. 

"At  last!"  cried  Adam,  without  moving  from  the 
sparse  edgewise  shade  of  the  dry-rustling  olive 
leaves,  and  making  a  trumpet  of  his  hands.  "Glen- 
morrison,  what  news  of  him  to-day?" 

A  tall,  ruddy-faced,  elderly  man  was  stepping 
liesurely  up  the  rocky  path  towards  him,  leaning 
somewhat  heavily  upon  a  stick,  and  occasionally 
stopping  to  wipe  his  brow  with  a  great  brown  ker- 
chief of  the  pattern  of  a  Paisley  shawl. 

So  soon  as  he  came  within  the  radius  of  retort, 
"Him,"  he  panted  indignantly,  ''him — as  you  call 
your  Prince,  sir,  is  for  a  wonder  in  the  best  of  health 
and  the  worst  of  tempers." 

"What,"  said  Adam  Home,  smiling,  and  making 
room  for  his  friend  under  the  olive,  "has  he  been 
fretted  by  the  Government  order  to  remove  himself 
from  Avignon,  or  has  he  not  been  able  to  borrow  the 
money  to  pay  his  last  week's  market  bill?" 

"Neither  and  both,  sir,"  said  Glenmorrisun 
grandly,  and  then,  quite  suddenly  becoming  familiar 
and  dialectal,  he  added,  "sit  farther  over,  Aidam — 
ye  are  takkin'  up  every  bit  o'  the  caller  shade — no 
that  this  God- forsaken  whin  buss  gies  us  ony thing 
that  can  be  rightly  named  a  shadow.    I  wish  to  peace 


58  Love   Idylls 

I  was  sittin'  aneath  a  decent  Scots  fir  in  the  forest  o' 
Glenmorrison,  watchin'  the  reel  deer  com  in'  troopin' 
bonny  ower  the  Balloch !  Aidam,  Aidam,  what 
garred  ns  no  stick  to  that  douce  solid  man,  King 
George,  and  so  sit  siccar  on  our  lands  and  heritages 
a'  our  days  ?" 

"Glenmorrison,"  said  Adam  Home,  clapping  his 
hand  on  his  friend's  knee,  as  they  sat  close  together 
in  their  doubtful  patch  of  coolness,  and  watched  the 
yellow  sunlight  in  which  the  landscape  simmered 
with  the  Palace  of  the  Popes  rising  stern  and 
dignified  in  the  midst,  "Who  was  it  that  persuaded 
me  first  to  join?  Who  brought  me  hither?  Who 
pinches  and  screws  that  'him'  down  yonder  may  have 
three  pennies  and  a  bawbee  out  of  every  good  Scot's 
groat  that  comes  his  way — who  but  Glenmorrison? 
Aye,  and  who  would  give  up  that  last  bawbee  for  a 
clap  on  the  shoulder  and  a  careless  kindly  word  from 
Ye-Ken-Wha?" 

"I  ken — I  ken,"  said  the  ruddy-faced  man,  shaking 
his  head;  "it's  true,  Aidam.  But  it's  fair  heart- 
breakin'  to  see  him  this  day  sittin'  cheek  by  jow  wi' 
the  Dowager's  waitin'-maid,  and  cryin'  every  quarter 
hour  for  'A  bottle  o'  wine  and  fresh  glasses !'  Wi' 
never  a  thocht  o'  his  faithfu'  servants  that  have 
weared  their  a'  on  him,  but  only  colloguin'  wi'  Irish 
rapparees  and  penniless  French  rogues.    It's  a'  that 


The  Fitting  of  the  Peats  59 


woman!  We  maun  kidnap  her,  I'm  tellin'  ye,  and 
send  her  aff  to  King  Louis.  He  has  sae  money  sic- 
like  already  aboot  him  that  an  odd  yin  or  twa  mair 
wad  never  be  kenned !  But  she  plays  the  mischief  wi' 
oor  laddie." 

"And  think  ye/'  said  Adam  Home,  "that  if  the 
Walkinshaw  were  away  that  we  wad  get  back  the  lad 
that  fought  at  Gaeta  like  ten  men  and  stood  like  a  tall 
pine  beneath  the  gathering  banner  at  Glenfinnan? 
No,  no,  let  the  lass  be,  lest  a  worse  thing  befall !" 

The  elder  man  looked  up  with  some  surprise  at 
his  companion. 

"Aidam!"  he  said,  "what's  gotten  ye,  Aidam? 
Has  she  been  at  ye  hersel*  ?  I  thought  that  ye  were 
wi'  us  in  separatin'  the  Prince  f  rae  that  woman  ?" 

Then  Adam  Home  spake  more  sharply  than  be- 
fore— nay,  even  sternly.  "The  lass  has  paid  her  price 
for  him,  and  a  bonny  bargain  she  has  of  it!  Glen- 
morrison,  I  am  sick  of  all  this.  I  am  going  home 
to  Scotland — aye,  though  I  put  my  neck  in  the  hemp 
for  it.  Even  Tower  Hill  were  better  than  this  mis- 
erable life  of  feckless  plots  abroad  and  universal  cat- 
and-dog  at  home !" 

"Tut,  tut,  Aidam,"  said  Glenmorrison,  "this  will 
never  do!  Ye  need  to  be  lanced,  Aidam.  Mac- 
Wheem  maun  see  to  ye.  Nocht  like  blood-lettin'  for 
curin'  the  megrims !     Preserve  us — you  to  speak  o' 


60  Love  Idylls 

gaun  hame  to  the  gallows  wi'  a  score  o'  ill-set  cousins 
at  Henry  Pelham's  elbow,  and  that  good  uncle  him- 
sel'  aboot  to  be  inducted  into  your  estates  and  kindly 
heritages !" 

"Glenmorrison,"  said  Adam  Home,  "my  life  here 
is  not  worth  a  docken  leaf.  I  am  sick  of  it — sick 
also,  God  forgive  me,  of  the  Prince !" 

Glenmorrison  rose  in  a  fume. 

"I  see — I  see,"  he  said;  "you  would  play  'booty.' 
You  would  make  your  private  peace.  You  have  been 
in  communication  with  the  butchers  of  Drummossie. 
That  is  the  secret  of  your  defence  of  the  Walkin- 
shaw.  Perhaps  you  have  gotten  the  Dowager's  wait- 
ing-maid to  speak  a  word  to  her  mistress  for  you. 
But,  sir,  you  shall  not  go  to  England  without  feeling 
the  point  of  a  true  man's  sword.  Heavens,  sir,  I  will 
fight  you  here  and  now  for  the  words  you  have 
spoken !" 

And  the  red-faced  man  strode  to  and  fro,  snorting 
and  nodding  his  great  head,  and  with  his  hand 
clapped  threateningly  on  his  sword.  The  young  man 
sat  still,  leaning  his  back  indolently  against  the 
gnarled  trunk  of  the  olive,  and  for  answer  he  cast 
one  shapely  leg  over  the  other  and  stared  at  his  silver 
shoe-buckle. 

"Sit  down,  Glen,"  he  said ;  "you  and  I  cannot 
quarrel.     We  lay  over  long  together  in  the  cave  on 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  61 

Millwharchar  Muir.  The  stead  of  your  elbow  is  in 
my  ribs  yet.  Man,  ye  just  could  not  find  it  in  your 
heart  to  pink  Adam  Home  with  the  selfsame  hand 
that  used  to  be  laid  about  my  neck  in  the  night  time !" 

The  ruddy  man,  who  had  been  fanning-  himself 
haughtily,  flung  down  his  hat  in  the  dust  and  held 
out  both  his  hands. 

"Aidam,"  he  cried,  "ye  hae  seen  baith  a  mad  dog 
this  day  and  a  silly  one  too!  Give  me  your  hand, 
if  ye  can  forgive  me  for  my  temper.    It's  a'  my  mith- 

er's  faut  for  marryin'  a  d d  reid-headed  Heelant- 

man!" 

Then  the  young  man,  suddenly  losing  his  noncha- 
lance, rose  to  his  feet  with  a  bright  smile  on  his 
face.  He  took  his  friend's  hand,  pressed  it  with  a 
quick  enthusiasm  very  unlike  his  previous  uncon- 
cern, and  drew  him  down  again  upon  the  roots  of  the 
olive. 

"Sit  down,  Glen,"  he  said;  "this  day  is  some- 
what overhot  for  the  emotions.  If  you  are  a  fool, 
I  am  a  whole  company  of  them — and  a  merry- 
andrew  to  boot.  For  I  know  as  well  as  you  that  I  risk 
my  neck  by  going  back  to  Scotland.  I  have  nothing 
to  gain  but  the  gallows.  Yet,  O  man,  I  can  hear  in 
my  sleep  the  grouse  craw  in  the  heather  as  he  fills 
his  crappan,  and  the  lang-nebbit  whaup  willy- 
whaain'  doon  to  his  nest  in  the  gloamin' !    Man,  I'm 


62  Love  Idylls 

away  back  to  the  cave  on  the  Black  Craig  o'  Dee. 
My  heart  is  fair  sick  to  see  a  trout  loup  in  a  pool,  and 
to  sit  where  the  birks  are  bonniest  and  sweetest 
scented,  and  when  the  larches  are  hanging  out  their 
green  tassels  like  ladies'  favours." 

Adam  Home  uttered  the  last  words  with  a  kind 
of  rapture,  and  Glenmorrison  gazed  at  him  in  dumb 
astonishment,  which,  however,  slowly  merged  into 
an  eye-twinkling  kind  of  humour.  But  he  did  not 
speak. 

"Good-day,  Glen,"  cried  the  young  man,  waving 
his  hand;  "I'm  off  to  pack  my  hat-box.  Make  my 
adieus  and  obeisances  to  the  Prince,  will  you,  if  ever 
he  asks  for  me;  I  will  not  interrupt  him  now!" 

Glenmorrison  watched  him  go,  with  a  careless 
grace  of  carriage  that  had  something  almost  dainty 
and  womanish  about  it.  Then  the  smile  broadened 
on  his  face. 

"Oho!  Aidam,  lad!"  he  murmured,  "ye  are  sick 
to  hear  the  whaup  birlin'  at  his  wild  sang  doon  the 
wind,  are  ye?  And  every  grouse  cock  that  chunners 
in  a  heather  buss  is  happier  than  you !  An'  it's  the 
springtime  on  Millwharchar  Muir,  is  it?  And  the 
Walkinshaw,  doon  there"  (he  pointed  with  his 
hand),  "is  a  puir  lass  that  has  paid  her  price,  and 
your  heart  is  sore  vexed  for  her.  Aye,  aye !  Aidam ! 
Ow  aye,  Aidam !" 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  63 

And  Glenmorrison,  sitting  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  leaned  forward  till  his  broad,  smooth-shaven 
chin  rested  on  the  ebony  handle  of  his  cane,  and 
watched  the  young  man  till  he  lost  sight  of  the  tall 
slender  figure  in  the  press  of  the  country  folk  on 
mules  and  donkeys,  all  coming  out  of  the  city  laden 
with  their  purchases  or  rattling  the  empty  baskets  of 
their  ingoing  merchandise. 

"Aye,  aye,"  he  communed  with  himself,  well- 
pleased  at  his  own  penetration,  "I  ken.  I  thocht  it 
would  come.  And  it  will  tak'him  the  sairer  noowhen 
it  has.  There  never  was  a  Kilpatrick  that  could 
stand  against  a  petticoat.  And  this  yin  has  been 
lang  in  catchin'  the  fever.  It  will  gang  the  harder 
wi'  him  for  that !  And  a  bit  slip  o'  a  country  lass 
too — after  haein'  escapit  a'  the  braw  dames  o'  King 
Louis'  Court!" 

He  rose  after  a  while,  stretched  himself  carefully, 
and  with  a  stiff  halt  in  his  gait  began  to  descend. 

"Aweel,"  he  mused  as  he  went,  "it's  nae  mainner 
o'  use  speakin'  to  the  lad.  He  doesna  ken  what  is 
the  trouble  wi'  him.  And  faith,  Guid  forgie  ye, 
Glenmorrison,  ye  are  ower  fond  o'  a  bonny  bit 
craitur  yoursel'  to  hae  the  richt  to  flyte  him!  Aye," 
he  added,  chuckling,  "and  fond  too  o'  the  whaup 
willy-whaain'  doon  to  his  nest  in  the  gloamin' !" 


64  Love   Idylls 


CHAPTER    X 

THE  SECOND  FITTING  OF  THE  PEATS 

It  was  a  June  morning.  Mistress  Bell  Mac  Lurg 
was  out  fitting  the  peats  on  the  Millwharchar  Muir. 
This  is  how  she  did  it. 

It  was  yet  early.  The  dew  was  pearled  on  the  grass, 
and  Bell  walked  slowly  from  the  little  heather-girt 
farm-steading,  and  down  the  birch-tree  glade.  Then 
still  more  slowly  she  passed  along  the  side  of  the  burn 
that  gurgled  half-hid  in  the  bent  grass  till  she 
reached  the  black  hags  on  the  edge  of  the  muir. 

At  this  place,  having  looked  at  the  peats  her  father 
had  cast,  and  shaken  her  head  over  the  delicate  prob- 
lem of  where  she  was  to  begin,  Bell  sat  down  on  a 
knoll  of  dry  heather  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  con- 
sideration of  that  and  of  other  problems  more  or  less 
remotely  connected  therewith. 

"Here,"  she  said,  "was  the  very  spot  where  I 
had  been  kneeling,  when !" 

"No,"  she  added,  correcting  herself,  finger  on 
lip,  "it  was  there!"  But  it  was  neither.  For  more 
of  the  peat-face  had  been  cast,  and  the  spot  where 
the  sacred  and  unutterable  event  thus  vaguely  al- 


The   Fitting   of  the   Peats  65 

ludecl  to  had  happened,  was  lying  all  about  her  in 
narrow  black  oblongs,  of  the  shape  and  size  of  two 
bricks  fastened  together  by  their  ends. 

He  had  promised — but — it  simply  could  not  be! 
The  laws  against  straggling  rebels  were  more  strictly 
administered  than  ever,  the  red  soldiers  more  fre- 
quent visitors  in  the  glen.  She  was  glad,  therefore, 
that  there  was  no  chance  of  her  being  interrupted  at 
her  work — so  glad  that  as  she  looked  downwards 
towards  the  Black  Craig  of  Dee,  along  the  line  by 
which  he  had  come  last  year  (was  it  only  a  year 
ago?)  the  landscape  appeared  curiously  enough  to 
dissolve,  running  edgewise  in  both  directions,  and 
a  dry  lump  which  had  been  hardening  in  her  throat 
broke  with  a  sound  like  a  sob. 

This  was  that  same  Bell  Mac  Lurg  who  had  made 
a  jest  and  a  mocking  of  the  rows  of  young  men  along 
the  west  wall  of  the  kirk  on  Sabbaths,  and  even 
turned  on  her  heel  when  the  young  Laird  of  Duchrae 
told  her  that  he  had  seen  no  girl  so  pretty  in  the  As- 
sembly Rooms  of  Edinburgh,  asking  him  if  by  any 
chance  he  thought  that  was  any  news  to  her. 

Yet  it  was  this  very  girl  who  thus  saw  the  land- 
scape waver  and  melt  into  a  grey  blur,  like  a  sum  on 
a  boy's  slate  at  close  of  school. 

What — it  was  raining!  Thunder- rain  too,  for 
the  drops  splashing  down  flat  and  large  were  more 


66  Love  Idylls 


than  lukewarm.  Bell  glanced  up  at  the  sky.  The 
sunlit  blue  ran  every  way,  though  still  a  little  blurred 
and  dim.  The  drops  must  come  from  somewhere 
else.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that  she  had  been  crying 
till  a  shadow  fell  across  the  yellow  bent  and  dulled 
the  ruby-hearted  heather.  She  started  to  her  feet, 
her  heart  drummed  in  her  ears,  and  the  tears  were 
raining  down  undisguisedly  now.  A  figure,  tall  and 
darkly  masculine,  was  striding  swiftly  over  the  peat 
hags  within  a  score  of  feet  of  her.  She  could  not 
see  his  face.  So  silly  it  was !  She  darted  up  her 
apron,  a  pretty  one  with  flowers  speckled  on  it  which 
she  had  put  on  (one  never  knows!),  and  dashed  the 
water  out  of  her  eyes. 

Some  one  had  hold  of  her  hands.  Some  one  was 
whispering  words  in  her  ear.  Will  Begbie!  No — 
not  Will  Begbie — by  no  manner  of  means  Will 
Begbie ! 

"Love — little  love,"  he  was  saying  (Will  Begbie 
forsooth!)  "I  have  come  back  to  you — a  thousand 
miles  back  for  my  lesson.  Have  you  forgot  that  you 
promised  to  teach  me  how  to  fit  the  peats?" 

But  in  spite  of  his  cheering  words  Bell  could  only 
sob  and  sob  and  hold  down  her  face.  She  had  not 
really  wanted  him  to  come.  She  had  hoped  that  he 
would  stay  away.  She  was  very  angry  with  him  for 
coming.    She  would  tell  him  so  and  send  him  away. 


The   Fitting   of  the   Peats  67 

Besides  it  was  very  wrong.  What  would  her  father 
say !  And  at  any  rate  he  could  never  mean  it,  but 
only  to  make  sport  of  her.  He  was  a  great  man. 
She  would  tell  him  now  to  go  away  and  leave  her. 
So  she  set  her  hands  against  his  breast,  for  he  was 
drawing  her  dangerously  near  to  him  and  saying — 
well,  things  that  her  ears  ached  to  hear  and  her  heart 
bounded  to  listen  to. 

Then  with  a  tremendous  effort  Bell  lifted  her  face 
to  speak.  She  was  just  opening  her  mouth  to  tell 
him  that  he  must  not — when — when  something  cata- 
clysmic happened.  The  sky  went  round  and  round, 
the  world  span  like  a  top.  The  earth  heaved  under 
her  feet.  All  the  wide  spaces  seemed  to  grow  full  of 
honeysuckle  and  balm  and  sweet  spices.  Odours  of 
the  divine  and  human  floated  dizzying  about  her. 
She  trod  on  the  viewless  air.  Rosy  clouds  upbore 
her,  and  she  found  herself  held  very  close  to  a  blue 
silk  vest,  underneath  which  a  man's  heart  was  beat- 
ing very  loud.  Her  hands,  which  she  could  have 
sworn  that  she  had  raised  for  the  purpose  of  keep- 
ing him  at  a  proper  distance,  were  clasped  about  his 
neck.  It  was  no  use  to  pretend  any  more.  Also  it 
was  much  nicer. 


68  Love   Idylls 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE    PROPOSAL 

"But  you  should  not  have  come  at  all.  You 
know  you  should  not.  I  did  not  mean  you  to  come. 
And  you  are  in  danger.  You  must  go  away  at  once, 
or  else  I  shall  not  love  you !" 

The  young  man,  whose  face  now  wore  a  very  dif- 
ferent expression  to  that  which  we  had  seen  upon  it 
under  the  olive  tree  over  against  the  Bridge  of  Avig- 
non, felt  himself  held  tighter  as  the  tender  voice 
murmured  reproachfully,  "You  must  go  away 
again !" 

Once  on  a  time,  and  not  so  long  ago  either,  Adam 
Home  had  thought  that  his  life  was  over.  With  a 
kind  of  relief  he  had  felt  (as  he  believed)  his  pulses 
beat  slower  and  steadier.  He  had  looked  cold  and 
unmoved  upon  the  fascinations  of  the  easy  beauties 
of  two  Courts.  So  he  was  sure  that  his  youth  had 
indeed  passed  away.  But  now,  held  in  the  light  of 
Bell  Mac  Lurg's  eyes,  exultation  took  hold  of  him 
to  find  that  his  heart  had  never  played  so  rare  a  tune 
for  any  woman,  and  that  this  Bonnet  Laird's  daugh- 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  69 

ter  had  taught  him  that  there  was  a  sweeter  cup  to 
set  to  his  lips  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of  draining 
on  his  life's  journey. 

"You  knew  you  were  in  danger — yet  you  have 
come  back  to  me!" 

To  Bell  there  was  something  acutely,  even  pain- 
fully, exquisite  in  the  thought.  Fire  as  well  as  blood 
ran  in  the  girl's  veins. 

"Oh,  but  you  should  not — you  ought  not!"  she 
cried;  "you  must  go  back  at  once — if  any  one  should 
see  you,  what  should  I  do  ?    Go !  Go !" 

But,  nevertheless,  Adam  Home  felt  himself  held 
tighter,  for  the  face  that  looked  up  at  him  was  at 
once  radiant  with  a  maid's  love  and  fierce  with  a 
mother's  anxiety. 

Smiles  ran  rippling  across  the  girl's  lips  as  often 
as  they  were  disengaged — while  each  time  she  held 
him  at  a  distance  in  order  to  search  his  face  (to  see 
if  he  really  meant  it),  tears  welled  in  her  eyes  till 
they  grew  large  and  deep  and  suffused,  being  filled 
with  a  kind  of  glorified  mist. 

And  then  Adam  Home  told  his  tale  at  length.  To 
do  it  he  bade  her  sit  down  beside  him  on  a  tussock 
of  "ling"  in  the  lea  of  a  great  face  of  peat.  Before 
she  did  so  Bell  cast  her  eye  around  the  horizon  and 
her  mind  over  the  possibilities.  Her  father  was  at 
Cairn  Edward.    He  would  likely  go  on  to  Dumfries. 


jo  Love   Idylls 


It  was  market  day  there  and  he  might  be  long  de- 
tained— might  indeed  not  return  that  night. 

Will  Begbie — well,  it  did  not  much  matter  where 
Will  was.  She  held  Will  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand. 
So  she  thought  as  she  settled  herself  down  on  the 
great  tussock  of  dry  purple  heather.  There  were 
no  King's  soldiers  in  the  neighbourhood  ever  since 
Ligonier's  Horse  had  been  called  abroad,  and  with 
them  had  marched  that  young  ensign  who  had  come 
"once-errand,"  as  the  country  folk  say,  from  Dum- 
fries, just  to  see  whether  Bell's  eyes  were  as  glori- 
ously blue  as  had  been  reported  of  them.  He  went 
back,  declaring  that  the  half  had  not  been  told  him 
— but  adding  that  her  heart  was  as  flinty  as  her  eyes 
were  blue. 

And  there  and  thus  Adam  Home  told  his  tale  and 
settled  the  aching  of  his  heart,  feasting  his  eyes  on 
their  desire  till  the  sun  rose  to  the  zenith  and  began 
to  sink  again,  and  still  on  the  wide  Millwharchar 
Muir  not  a  peat  was  fitted. 

Moreover  Bell  began  to  grow  hungry.  As  for 
Adam,  he  did  not  care  whether  or  not  he  ever  tasted 
food  again.  Indeed,  the  very  thought  jarred  upon 
him.  But  not  so  Bell.  For,  rising  at  last  after  many 
attempts  out  of  the  encircling  fortress,  she  extracted 
from  under  the  lip  of  a  moss-hag  a  white-wrapped 


The   Fitting   of  the   Peats  71 

bundle  and  a  brown  jug.  With  these  she  spread  be- 
fore him  her  frugal  midday  meal — scones  of  flour 
and  farles  of  cake,  in  quantity  scantly  enough  for  one 
and  a  laughing-stock  for  two — yet  very  bread  of 
the  gods  when  administered  in  finger-lengths  with 
spices  and  condiments  thus  : — 

"Open  your  mouth,  sir — no,  you  don't!  There! 
Now  eat  that !  Did  you  ever  get  anything  so  nice 
in  France?  You  know  you  never  did.  You  know  it 
in  your  heart,  sir.  I  suppose  you  have  been  drink- 
ing such  rare  and  expensive  wines  that  you  turn  up 
your  nose  at  honest  buttermilk.  But  I  will  teach 
you,  sir,  to  play  your  whimsies  off  on  me !  Another 
bite?  Ah,  would  you!  One  thing  at  a  time,  if  you 
please,  Master  Adam  Francis  Charles  Home !  Oho, 
sir,  I  have  not  forgotten  your  name,  you  see!  Not 
that  I  believe  a  syllable  of  the  Charles  Francis,  any 
more  than  I  do  of  all  the  other  nonsense  you  have 
been  talking  this  morning!" 

All  at  once  she  clasped  her  hands  with  a  pathetic 
little  gesture  of  dramatic  despair. 

"Adam,"  she  cried,  "we  have  forgotten  to  fit  a 
single  peat !  What  will  my  father  say  to  me  when 
he  comes  home?  (Thank  heaven,  he  is  at  Dumfries 
by  now!)" 

Adam  Home  indicated  that  he  cared  not  even  an 


72  Love   Idylls 


infinitesimal  coin  of  the  realm  what  her  father  said, 
and  that  he  had  not  come  a  thousand  mile  and  a 
thousand  to  the  back  of  that  only  to  fit  peats  all 
day. 

At  this  Bell's  mouth  dropped,  and  she  glanced  up 
at  him  with  shocked  reproach. 

"But  you  told  me  when  you  first  arrived  that  you 
had  come  for  your  lesson,  and  if  that  is  not  true,  how 
can  I  believe  anything  else  you  have  told  me  since?" 

Adam  Home  hastened  to  supply  her  with  an  ad- 
ditional and  confirmatory  evidence. 

"Well,  if  that  be  true,"  said  Bell,  daintying  her- 
self after  eating,  "you  must  help  me  with  my  peats. 
I  must  have  something  to  show,  you  know,  or  John 
and  Alec  will  wonder!" 

"Let  them  wonder!"  said  Adam  Home.  "Bell, 
will  you  come  away  with  me?  I  want  you  to  leave 
all  this.  Can  you  take  a  landless  and  moneyless  man, 
one  without  country  or  kin  ?  Would  you  leave  your 
people  to  wander  the  earth  with  him?" 

Bell  put  out  her  hand. 

Her  eyes  were  downcast  and  smiling,  yet  she  did 
not  answer  for  a  while.  Then  she  glanced  up  quickly 
at  him. 

"What  do  you  think  yourself?"  she  said,  daring 
him  with  her  eyes. 

He  did  not  heed  her  light  mood,  but  went  on 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  73 

more  earnestly  and  boldly.    "Will  you,  Bell  ?    Take 
time  before  you  answer,  for  it  means  all  to  me." 

"Aye,  truly,"  said  Bell,  suddenly  growing  as  pale 
as  himself,  "I  will  go  with  you  the  world  over !  You 
know  well  that  you  have  made  me  love  you !" 

"And  I,"  said  Adam  Home,  taking  her  hand,  "will 
faithfully  serve  you,  will  give  my  life  to  keep  you 
safe,  my  love,  my  wife!  I  will  joy  to  do  your  bid- 
ding  " 

Bell  glanced  up  with  a  sudden  light  in  her  demure 
eye  and  a  rush  of  red  back  to  her  pale  cheek.  "I 
would  far  rather  that  you  made  me  do  your  bid- 
ding!" 

"I  may  have  to  do  that,  too,  madam !"  said  Adam 
Home,  with  an  answering  spark  of  fire  in  his  eye. 
"And  faith,  Mistress  Bell,  I  had  better  begin  now. 
I  have  found  a  safe  way  out  of  the  country.  A  French 
ship  sails  a  week  hence  from  Loch  Ryan.  She  calls 
at  Isle  Rathan,  whence  a  boat  may  be  put  out  to  her 
under  cloud  of  night.  My  friend,  Patrick  Heron, 
though  a  great  King  George's  man,  has  there  a  good 
Jacobite  clergyman  in  hiding  with  him — a  man,  like 
myself,  somewhat  tainted  in  the  recent  troubles.  He 
will  marry  us — that  is,  if  between  times  you  do  not 
change  your  mind.  Patrick's  wife  will  welcome  you 
for  my  sake,  for  she,  too,  wears  the  white  rose  in  her 
heart.      And  as  for  Pat,  he  will  welcome  you  for 


74  Love   Idylls 

your  own.  For,  having  wedded  one  of  them  him- 
self, he  naturally  loves  all  pretty,  scornful  lasses. 
Bell,  what  say  you  to  my  plan  ?    Will  you  come  ?" 

"I  cannot  even  if  I  would.  I  shall  not  have  any 
wedding-dress!"  she  objected,  feeling  that  he  was 
taking  things  rather  too  much  for  granted.  Her 
pretty  lips  pouted  and  her  foot  kicked  at  a  tuft  of 
grass.  "And  I  had  thought  it  all  out  during  the 
winter.  It  was  to  be  white  silk  with  gold  broidering 
— long  in  the  waist,  short  in  the  skirt — so  pretty 
over  a  quilted  petticoat  of  blue,  with  black  stockings 
and  buckled  shoes.  Bess  Kerr  told  me  of  one  she 
saw  in  Edinburgh  at  the  Assembly  Rooms,  but  I 
knew  I  could  better  it.  And  now  I  cannot.  I  won't 
be  married  in  my  old  taffeta.  It  is  a  shame.  But 
men  do  not  care.  I  suppose  you  would  be  glad  if  I 
had  only  my  apron." 

"I  would  indeed  be  well  content,"  said  Adam 
gravely ;  "I  want  only  you,  you  see.  I  did  not  come 
from  France  to  marry  a  'grande  costume' !" 

"But  I  shall  not  look  at  all  pretty!  You  will  be 
ashamed  of  me.  In  France  you  will  go  out  with 
your  great  ladies  and  leave  me.  Are  you  sure  you 
never  will?    Tell  me — tell  me  at  once!" 

Adam  told  her  several  times,  being  held  tightly  by 
the  lapels  of  his  coat  while  he  did  so. 

"No,  do  not  bend  your  head ;  hold  it  up.    So !    I 


The  Fitting  of  the  Peats  75 

want  to  see  by  your  eyes  if  you  are  speaking  the 
truth.  You  really  love  me  in  this  old  gown  better 
than  all  the  fine  ladies  of  the  Court?  And  will  you 
always  love  me  just  as  much,  and  never,  never,  never 
grow  tired  of  me?" 


76  Love  Idylls 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE  OTHER  PLAN 

While  Adam  was  engrossed  in  the  long-contin- 
ued business  of  satisfying  these  and  other  reasonable 
inquiries  and  doubts  of  his  sweetheart,  it  was  natural 
enough  that  both  of  them  should  be  wholly  absorbed 
in  their  own  affairs. 

Had  either  of  them  turned  their  heads,  all  the  rest 
of  this  story  might  have  run  differently.  But  neither 
moved,  so  they  did  not  notice  that  behind  them  a  man 
was  crouched  on  the  top  of  the  peat  bank  looking 
directly  down  upon  them.  He  could  hear  the  low 
murmur  of  their  voices.  He  could  see  Bell's  face 
turned  tenderly  and  smilingly  up,  with  that  look 
upon  it  which  means  happiness  to  but  one  man — for 
it  is  the  unmistakable  look  of  a  woman's  glad  sur- 
render and  resignation.  He  could  see — and  after 
that  he  turned  away — Adam  Home's  face  bowed 
down  to  silence  with  a  long  kiss  a  pair  of  appealing 
and  petitionary  lips. 

Will  Begbie  went  down  Millwharchar  Muir  like  a 
man  stricken  with  a  deadly  wound,  who  yet  can  just 
stagger  home  to  die.     He  had  come  up  to  the  hill 


The  Fitting  of  the  Peats  jy 

with  purpose  to  see  Bell  Mac  Lurg,  and,  it  might  be, 
help  her  with  her  peat-fitting.  He  had  watched  her 
that  day  as  he  had  done  every  day  since  the  man 
whose  life  he  had  saved  had  gone  to  France.  And 
though,  for  a  little  while  after  the  lugger  sailed  from 
the  Water  of  Fleet  with  the  red-capped  sailor  on 
board,  Bell  had  seemed  pensive,  of  late  all  had 
changed,  and  her  voice  was  once  more  heard  gay- 
carrolling  in  the  morn,  like  the  mavis  in  little  bursts 
of  song,  as  she  swung  her  milking-pail  or  tripped 
up  the  loaning  to  summon  home  the  pasturing  kine 
with  the  old  melodious  call — 

"Hurley,  Hurley,  hie  away  hame!" 

Will  Begbie  had  loved  Bell  a  long  time — indeed, 
ever  since  he  could  remember  her,  a  little  dainty  dot- 
ting thing  of  two  or  three  whom  he  used  to  carry 
afield  to  gather  gowans  on  the  knowes  while  he 
mowed  the  rushy  hollows,  or  to  lose  herself  in  the 
cornfield  where  the  tall  poppies  waved  scarlet  like  a 
thousand  soldiers'  coats. 

For  years  he  had  counted  her  as  surely,  his  watch- 
ing her  as  she  grew  up,  rejoicing  in  her  beauty,  glad 
when  the  suitors  came  flocking,  and  chuckling  to 
himself  with  a  quiet  smile  as  he  saw  them  betake 
themselves  out  of  the  glen,  riding  sullenly  on  their 
steeds,  yet  nevertheless  turning  in  their  saddles  to 


78  Love   Idylls 


take  a  last  look  at  Bell,  as  she  stood  in  the  doorway 
waving  them  off  into  the  great  world  again. 

He  had  never  spoken  of  love  to  Bell.  But  he  had 
depended  upon  her  knowing.  And  he  had  liked  her 
to  count  upon  him  in  all  things.  It  was,  "Will,  do 
this!"  and  Will  had  done  it  already.  "Will,  come 
here !"  and  Will  came  like  a  dog.  At  kirk  and  mar- 
ket, if  there  happened  to  be  nobody  newer  or  better, 
Will  was  at  hand  to  escort  Bell  home,  never  in- 
trusive or  in  the  way,  ready  to  recognise  the  interests 
of  sport  and  keep  discreetly  in  the  background  so 
long  as  he  was  not  wanted,  but  all  the  same — there — 
ready  and  happy  to  be  whistled  up  on  occasion  like 
his  own  faithful  Bawty. 

In  short,  the  relation  into  which  Bell  and  Will  had 
dropped  was  precisely  that  most  unlikely  to  be 
favourable  to  the  intentions  of  either. 

For  Will  never  doubted  but  that  Bell,  when  she 
had  tired  of  novelty  and  the  exercise  of  her  power, 
would  turn  to  him.  Bell,  on  her  part,  when  she 
thought  of  the  matter  at  all,  had  an  idea  of  making 
good  old  Will,  faithful  Will,  happy — by  loving  him 
as  a  sister.  This  appeared  to  her  an  ambition  so 
new,  so  untried,  so  laudable,  and  moreover  one  so 
likely  to  meet  Will's  own  views  (when  properly  ex- 
plained to  him),  that  she  never  doubted  but  that  all 


The  Fitting  of  the  Peats  79 

was  for  the  best  between  them.  So  she  took  Will 
Begbie's  arm  with  a  sister's  freedom,  and  patted  him 
on  the  head,  as  he  sat  by  the  fire  watching  her  with 
adoring  eyes,  like  a  big  dog.  Once  at  Halloween 
she  had  even  let  him  kiss  her  when  the  nuts  were 
cracking  merrily  on  the  hearth,  and  kissing  was  in 
the  very  air. 

Will  thought  of  that  every  night.  He  was  too 
proud  of  it  ever  to  try  for  another.  But  to  marry 
Will  Begbie!  Why,  Bell  never  thought  of  such  a 
thing. 

But  Will  did,  and  now  as  he  stumbled  blindly 
down  the  hill,  his  heart  clay-cold  and  dead  within 
his  breast,  the  whole  bright  summer  landscape, 
running  in  glorious  red  and  green  and  purple 
from  verge  to  horizon  verge,  gay  with  flowers  under- 
foot, white-winged  with  clouds  above — all  suddenly 
went  ashen  grey  and  lifeless  about  him. 

He  looked  angrily  up  at  the  muir  fowl,  the  clam- 
orous peesweeps,  the  whinnying  snipe,  the  wailing 
curlew.  They  vexed  him.  He  wished  he  could  twist 
their  necks  and  silence  them  forever.  Bell  had  been 
taken  from  him.  Now  she  never  could  be  his.  He  had 
seen  it.  He  had  never  before  surprised  that  look  on 
a  woman's  face.  Now  he  never  would  see  it  for  him- 
self.   But  he  knew  its  meaning  on  Bell's  all  too  well. 


80  Love  Idylls 


So  he  stumbled  dully  into  the  stable.  It  seemed 
the  safest  refuge.  He  would  escape  from  the  clamour 
and  the  brightness  there. 

Blossom,  Pet  Blossom,  the  little  grey  mare  he  had 
been  keeping  as  a  surprise  for  Bell,  turned  and  whin- 
nied to  him.  He  was  used  to  bring  her  a  piece  of 
sugar  in  his  pocket,  concealing  it  from  his  house- 
keeper, who  did  not  approve  of  luxuries.  Now  Pet 
Blossom  vexed  him,  and  as  she  nuzzled  against  his 
coat,  he  thrust  her  fiercely  from  him,  as  if  she  had 
been  responsible  for  the  faithless,  cruel  girl  who 
should  have  been  her  mistress.  Then,  his  heart  re- 
lenting, he  bent  his  head  on  Blossom's  mane,  and 
did  what  many  a  man  has  done  before  and  since, 
though  that  which  none  will  ever  own  to. 

Slowly  he  came  to  himself,  an  angry  and  desperate 
bitterness  rising  in  his  heart.  This  man,  he  knew, 
was  a  great  lord — an  exile  truly,  but  still  in  spite  of 
that  a  great  lord.  He  could  mean  no  good  to  Bell. 
He  was  deceiving  her.  It  might  soon  be  too  late. 
This  man  had  used  his  hospitality  to  win  away  his 
sweetheart  from  him.  But  at  this  point,  with  a  quick 
revulsion  his  heart  refused  to  give  up  all  hope.  Even 
now  it  might  be  possible.  All  was  not  yet  lost  He 
might  still  save  Bell. 

Even  as  he  thought  these  things  in  his  heart  he  was 
saddling  Blossom.  That  mettlesome  little  lady  threw 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  81 

up  her  head  and  moved  her  feet  rejoicingly  and  ex- 
pectantly on  the  hard  earthen  floor  of  the  stable. 

He  had  suddenly  remembered  that  Ninian  Mac 
Lurg  would  be  at  market  that  day.  He  would  warn 
him  of  the  traitor  within  his  gates.  But  in  the  back- 
ground of  Will  Begbie's  heart  there  was  another 
and  less  worthy  thought.  He  told  himself  that  he 
was  a  good  King's  man  with  a  duty  to  his  country — 
even  if  there  was  an  extra  loft  above  the  barn  at  the 
old  farm-steading. 

He  had  heard  that  there  was  to  be  a  troop  of  horse 
that  day  in  Cairn  Edward,  under  young  Ensign  Pel- 
ham.  His  herd  Jock  had  seen  them  riding  two  by 
two  yestere'en  along  the  military  road  from  the 
Shire.  They  could  not  yet  have  gone.  He  could 
make  up  his  mind  on  the  way  what  he  would  do  if 
he  found  them. 

So  Will  Begbie  mounted  at  the  stable-door,  and 
the  next  moment,  with  a  glad  clatter  of  hoofs  and  a 
ring  of  bridle-iron,  Blossom  was  flying  down  the 
glen  towards  Cairn  Edward. 


82  Love  Idylls 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    CAPTURE 

It  was  late  afternoon  upon  Milhvharchar  Muir. 
The  sun  began  to  cast  long,  slaty  shadows  thwart- 
wise  across  the  ruddy  purple  and  golden  brown. 
The  moss-hags  acquired  threatening  eyebrows  as 
their  overhanging  summits  shut  off  the  sunshine 
from  their  gloomy  deeps. 

Seven  times  had  Bell  remarked  that  it  was  time 
to  be  going  homewards,  lest  one  of  her  brothers — 
or  perhaps  Will  Begbie — might  take  it  into  his 
head  to  come  that  way  looking  for  her. 

Besides,  the  peats  were  fitted — as  many  as  two 
rows  of  stooks — work  for  half  an  hour  at  least. 
But  then  Bell  had  had  to  wait  till  the  casting  was 
dry  enough.  Other  things  also  had  interfered. 
At  last,  however,  after  an  eighth  declaration,  she 
rose  determinedly  to  her  feet.  This  time  there 
must  be  no  dallying.  She  must  be  going.  No, 
she  would  not  sit  down  again  and  think  it  over.  It 
was  time,  and  high  time,  too.  And  he  ought  to 
know  better  than  to  ask  her,  considering  the 
danger  to  them  both;  and  what  would  she  do  if 
anything  happened  to  him? 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  83 

Well,    just    a   minute   then.     There !     Was    he 

satisfied  now? 

******* 

So  in  the  quiet,  peaceful-seeming  evening  these 
two  walked  slowly  towards  the  little  copse  which 
erected  its  crest  of  birch  and  fir  over  the  edge  of 
the  moor.  They  went  hand  in  hand,  and  discussed 
the  flight  to  Isle  Rathan.  Adam  was  to  arrange 
through  a  faithful  retainer  that  Gideon  Lamb, 
outed  clergyman  and  good  Jacobite,  was  to  be  in 
readiness.  Mistress  Patrick  Heron  (erstwhile  May 
Maxwell)  was  to  be  warned.  Bell's  heart  throbbed 
at  the  thought  of  meeting  her,  reassured,  however, 
by  the  news  that  she  had  once  been  a  farmer's 
daughter.     Bell's  father  was  a  laird. 

"Now,  little  love,"  said  Adam,  "we  must  say 
good-night.  Good  angels  keep  you — till  to-mor- 
row, fove,  till  to-morrow !  And  then,  on  the  third 
day — why  then,  there  will  begin  to  be  no  more  to- 
morrows for  ever  and  ever !" 

"Good-night,  Adam!" 

"Why  do  you  not  say  Charles  Francis?"  he  said, 
smiling. 

"I  like  Adam  best  now.     You  are  my  Adam!" 

"Good-night,  little  Eve !" 
******* 

"In  the  King's  name,  stand!" 


84  Love   Idylls 

The  voice  rang  out  like  a  trumpet,  imperious 
and  commanding,  yet  with  a  certain  amount  of  the 
weakness  of  self-conscious  youth  in  it. 

Adam  Home  lifted  his  head  and  confronted  a 
score  of  dismounted  King's  troopers.  An  officer 
was  at  their  head  with  his  sword  drawn  in  his  hand. 
Their  carbines  were  at  the  ready,  and  the  black 
muzzles  approached  within  a  dozen  yards  of  his 
breast. 

Very  haughtily  Adam  Home — another  Adam 
Home  from  him  who  had  spoken  these  last  words 
to  his  love — looked  at  his  captors,  his  head  high  and 
his  eyes  straight  and  unabashed.  He  did  not  take 
his  arm  from  about  his  sweetheart's  waist  under  the 
gaze  of  so  many  men,  but  rather,  as  it  seemed,  kept 
it  there  with  a  kind  of  prideful  ostentation. 

So  they  stood,  the  red  tunics  of  the  dragoons 
almost  black  against  the  sunset,  the  last  rayS  glint- 
ing on  sword  blade  and  gun  barrel  and  looking 
fair  into  the  dark  and  angry  face  of  Adam  Home 
and  the  wild  eyes  of  Bell,  the  plighted  wife  of  the 
man  whose  life  was  forfeit. 

Behind  the  troop  stood  Will  Begbie,  despair  and 
remorse  already  tugging  at  his  heartstrings.  But 
it  was  too  late. 

"Kilpatrick — you!"  cried  the  young  officer  of 
dragoons  in  sheer  and  unfeigned  astonishment. 


The   Fitting   of  the   Peats  85 

"Ah,  Harry !"  was  all  that  Adam  Home  replied. 

There  was  a  pause.  The  young  ensign  sheathed 
his  sword  with  a  sharp  click,- but  his  men  remained 
fixed  with  their  muskets  pointed  at  the  rebel. 

"Cousin  Adam,"  said  the  lad,  his  face  colouring, 
"this  is  a  deucedly  awkward  business  for  me.  I  de- 
clare I  must  take  you  prisoner !" 

Adam  Home  smiled,  and  removing  his  arm  from 
his  sweetheart's  waist  he  took  her  hand  instead. 
He  could  feel  that  her  bosom  was  heaving  tumultu- 
ouslv,  the  storm  not  far  off.  He  resolved  it 
should  noj"  break  if  he  could  help  it. 

"Certainly,  Harry  lad,"  he  cried  cheerfully,  "I 
am  your  prisoner.  But  I  am  this  lady's  prisoner 
first.     I  present  you  to  my  wife !" 

"Your  wife!"  repeated  the  officer,  obviously 
mystified. 

"Yes,  my  wife,  or  almost,"  said  Adam  Home. 
"His  Highness  the  Elector  of  Hanover  permitting, 
we  are  to  be  married  the  day  after  to-morrow  at 
the  house  of  Mr.  Patrick  Heron  of  Isle  Rathan, 
Justice  of  the  Peace  in  this  Stewartry  of  Kirkcud- 
bright." 

"That's  worse  still,  Adam,"  said  the  lad,  "for 
there's  a  warrant  out  for  your  arrest  on  a  charge  of 
high  treason.  And  Uncle  Harry  is  in  Cairn  Ed- 
ward to  meet  with  my  Lord  Galloway !" 


86  Love   Idylls 

"Content,  my  boy,"  said  Adam  Home  calmly, 
"it  will  be  quite  a  family  gathering!  All  I  ask  is 
that  you  march  your  men  round  by  the  house  of 
Millwharchar  which  your  guide  (he  looked  at  Will 
Begbie  with  a  dry  smile)  doubtless  pointed  out  to 
you  in  the  valley  as  you  came  up.  I  would  desire 
your  leave  to  place  in  safety  this  lady  who  is  so 
dear  to  me." 

"Of  course  I  will,"  cried  the  boy  brightening. 
"It  is  a  shift  most  damnable  that  I  am  in.  Pity 
me,  Adam,  and  tell  me  what  you  would  do  if  you 
were  in  my  shoes !" 

"Why,"  said  Adam  Home,  "do  what  you  must 
do — your  duty.  Besides,  you  are  my  uncle's 
favourite  and  next  heir,  and  when  they  stick  my 
head  on  Tower  Hill,  it  will  all  be  for  the  best." 

The  poor  boy's  distress  was  evident,  but  in 
another  direction  Adam  Home  had  gone  too  far. 
At  the  image  which  his  light  words  called  up  but 
too  easily  in  her  heart,  Bell  clasped  him  about  the 
neck. 

"Oh,  Adam,"  she  cried,  "I  have  brought  you  to 
this !  Wicked  girl  that  I  am — I  am  the  cause  of 
your  death !  You  will  hate  me.  You  will  curse 
the  day  you  saw  me.  You  must.  I  will  not 
love  you  if  you  do  not !" 

She  turned  upon  the  young  officer. 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  87 

"Oh,  good  sir,  I  know  you  are  kind.  Do,  I  pray 
you,  release  him.  I  beg  you  from  my  heart  to  let 
him  go.  Indeed,  he  was  not  plotting  nor  doing 
any  harm  to  the  King.  He  only  came  to  see  me. 
All  the  way  from  France  he  came.  And  I  love 
him.  And  I  hate  you,  Will  Begbie.  Yes,  I  hate 
you;  I  could  kill  you,  crush  you  like  a  serpent 
under  my  foot !  I  know  why  he  has  done  this, 
gentlemen;  it  is  because  I  would  not  marry  him. 
Ugh !  the  wretch.  I  always  knew  what  he  was. 
It  always  made  me  feel  as  if  a  toad  hopped  into  my 
hand  every  time  he  shook  it.  And  now  he  has 
wickedly  betrayed  my  love — my  life.  But  you  will 
let  him  go,  good  gentleman.  Sir  Captain,  I  will 
do  anything  you  ask.  I  will  be  indebted  to  you 
all  my  life.  Do  take  me  to  prison  in  his  place.  I 
alone  am  the  guilty  one  if  there  is  any  harm.  He 
came  all  the  way  only  to  see  me.  Would  not  you 
have  done  the  same?" 

"Indeed  that  I  would !"  cried  the  boy  eagerly. 

"If  you  had  been  my  sweetheart,  I  mean !" 

"Whether  or  no !"  cried  the  boy,  with  enthusi- 
asm. He  had  never  seen  so  pretty  a  girl,  he 
thought. 

"Then  you  will  let  him  go  !" 

The  lad  clasped  his  hands  in  despair  as  she  smiled 
hopefully  into  his  face.     But  Adam  answered  for 


88  Love  Idylls 


him,  tenderly  caressing  Bell's  hand  with  his  right, 
all  the  while  keeping  it  firm  in  his  left. 

"He  cannot,  dearest  heart!"  he  said;  "he  has  his 
duty  to  perform.  He  is  an  officer  of  King  George. 
I  would  do  the  same  in  his  place.  Indeed,  he  can- 
not let  me  go !  My  uncle  could,  but  he  will  not !" 
He  added  the  last  sentence  in  an  undertone. 

"But  they  will  kill  you.  I  am  sure  I  shall  never 
see  you  again.  And — the  day  after  to-morrow  was 
so  near !" 

At  the  sound  of  her  sobs  the  lad  bowed  his  head 
in  a  burst  of  boyish  sorrow. 

"This  is  hard,  Adam,"  he  moaned.  "Heavens 
and  earth,  I  declare  if  you  say  the  word  you  can  run 
for  it  when  my  troop  is  at  the  farmhouse.  I  will 
not  let  them  fire.  They  can  only  break  me.  They 
won't  shoot  me.  My  uncle  Henry  would  not  let 
them  to  do  that,  much  as  he  hates  you.  And  I  haven't 
got  any  sweetheart!" 

"My  boy,"  said  Adam  Home  gently,  "I  would 
not  think  of  it  for  a  moment.  They  will  not  hang 
me.  At  least,  I  do  not  think  so.  They  are  all  for 
conciliation  now.  They  say  that  the  Prince  has 
been  in  London,  and  that  the  Government  knew 
of  it." 

"Do  not  be  too  sure!  My  uncle  is  very  angry 
with  you  for  rebelling.     He  never  had  any  favour 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  89 


for   you.     And    now   he   swears   that   you    nearly 
loaded  him  with  the  King." 

''And  then,  after  all,  he  would  have  my  estates  if 
I  were  to  hang,  while  the  King  would  get  them  if 
they  were  only  confiscated,"  said  Adam  in  a  whis- 
per. "But  cheer  up,  boy,  and  let  us  keep  up  this 
lady's  spirits !" 

They  were  come  by  this  time  to  the  little  green 
loaning  which  leads  through  an  orchard  of  crab- 
apple  and  gooseberries  to  the  house  of  Millwhar- 
char. 

Bell  had  walked  quietly  the  last  part  of  the  way, 
holding  her  lover's  hand  while  he  talked  with  his 
cousin.  She  dried  her  eyes  and  listened.  There 
seemed  to  be  some  hope.  His  uncle,  they  said,  was 
a  great  man  in  whose  hand  were  the  powers  of  life 
and  death. 

Surely  he  would  not  order  to  the  scaffold  his  own 
nephew — just  for  coming  home  to  see  one  who 
loved  him. 

"Say  'good-bye'  to  me  here,  little  one,"  said 
Adam  at  the  gate,  gently,  "I  will  soon  be  back  to 
you.  And  though  the  day  after  to-morrow  can- 
not bring  me  all  the  happiness  I  had  hoped,  yet 
to-night  I  shall  sleep  happier  than  ever  before, 
knowing  that  you  love  me.  Be  not  afraid.  We 
must  put  the  other  off  a  little — but,  please  God, 


90  Love   Idylls 

only  for  a  little.  God  bless  you,  Bell.  Be  mind- 
ful of  me — a  worthless  fellow  enough,  but  one  that 
truly  loves  you !" 

"Good-night  then — and  not  'good-bye,'  Adam !" 
said  Bell,  brightly  holding  up  her  face  to  be  kissed 
unashamed  before  them  all. 

And  so,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  and  a  look  out 
of  his  eyes  for  her  alone,  Bell's  lover  marched  off  to 
prison,  smiling  and  dcbonnairc  as  ever — though 
the  road  he  went  might  be  even  to  the  scaffold. 

Bell  stood  on  the  doorstep  and  watched  them 
go.  Then,  in  a  moment,  her  mood  changed  from 
resignation  to  alertness. 

"John,"  she  cried,  "saddle  me  Brown  Bess! 
And  be  quick!  Don't  ask  why.  You  will  know 
in  good  time.  I  will  answer  to  my  father  when  he 
comes  home.     Do  as  I  bid  you  !" 

And  as  John  obediently  departed  stablewards, 
his  imperious  sister  ran  upstairs  to  her  own  little 
room  to  array  herself  in  her  daintiest  dress,  her 
whitest  and  fleeciest  lace,  her  smartest  shoes,  and 
to  don  the  pretty  low-sitting  hat  over  her  sunny 
curls,  which,  when  duly  settled  in  its  place,  made 
her  the  most  ravishing  vision  man  could  look  upon. 
After  that  she  stole  into  her  brother's  room,  and 
securing  a  rowel  spur,  fixed  it  carefully  upon  the 
heel  of  her  shoe. 


The  Fitting  of  the  Peats  91 

By  the  time  she  was  finished  and  had  dabbed  her 
eyes  free  of  all  traces  of  tears,  Brown  Bess  was  at 
the  door.  And  once  more  as  Bell  mounted,  John 
besought  her  to  tell  him  whither  she  was  going. 

"To  Cairn  Edward,"  she  cried,  as  she  sent  the 
rowels  home  with  absolute  disregard  for  Brown 
Bess's  feelings,  and  started  at  a  tearing  gallop 
down  the  brae. 

At  the  loaning  foot,  where  she  had  looked  her 
last  upon  the  man  she  loved,  the  man  who  only 
loved  her  stood  full  in  her  path. 

"Bell,  listen  to  me,  Bell !"  he  cried.  "Do  not  go 
till  I  have  had  speech  with  you !  I  could  not  help 
it !  He  but  played  with  you,  while  I  had  loved  you 
all  my  life." 

He  spoke  piteously,  wildly,  with  a  hoarse  bark  of 
despair  in  his  voice.  But  he  spoke  in  vain.  Bell 
was  of  that  nature  which  can  forgive  all  things  that 
do  not  touch  the  beloved.  But  there,  the  wolf 
guards  not  her  young  with  fiercier  tooth.  She  had 
found  her  love.  Now  she  would  fight  for  him. 
Rich  or  poor,  peer  of  the  realm  or  condemned 
traitor,  Bell  Mac  Lurg  cared  no  jot.  He  was  hers. 
He  was  her  all.  What  mattered  a  lifetime's  devo- 
tion in  any  other? 

"Out  of  my  way,  treacherous  hound !"  she  cried, 
and,  as  he  tried  in  desperation  to  seize  her  bridle 


92  Love   Idylls 

rein,  she  pulled  Brown  Bess  sharply  round  and  sent 
in  the  spur  a  second  time.  Even  then  Will  Begbie 
stood  his  ground,  but  the  pretty  vixen  on  horse- 
back cut  him  sharply  across  the  cheek  with  her 
whip. 

"That  is  all  I  have  for  traitors !"  she  cried  as  she 
passed  him.  She  meant  one  who  was  a  traitor  to 
her  love — King  George  or  King  James  she  cared 
nothing  for.  Why  should  she?  She  had  but  one 
king,  and  even  now  they  were  taking  him  to  his 
death. 

Will  Begbie  fell  back  with  a  red  line  across  his 
face  and  his  heart  broken,  while  Bell  swept  down 
the  Cairn  Edward  road  in  a  tumult  of  angry  exul- 
tation. 

"This  for  a  lifetime's  devotion !"  he  said,  with  his 
hand  touching  his  stinging  cheek. 

"That  for  betraying  my  love  to  his  enemies !"  she 
said,  and  inconsistently  bestowed  a  little  of  the 
same  upon  Brown  Bess,  who  at  least  was  wholly 
innocent. 

For  love  is  a  fire  that  eats  up  all,  and  there  is  no 
fuel  that  it  burns  faster  than  bygone  kindnesses 
which  are  awkward  to  remember. 

A  grave-faced  man  of  middle  age  sat  writing  in 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  93 

the  best  parlour  of  Mistress  Douglas's  change- 
house  in  the  town  of  Cairn  Edward.  He  had  laid 
aside  his  wig  for  greater  ease,  and  now  sat  occa- 
sionally rubbing  his  cropped  poll  of  badger  grey 
with  one  hand,  while  he  made  the  other  to  travel 
rapidly  over  the  blue  official  sheets  of  foolscap 
which  a  secretary  had  placed  on  the  table  before 
him. 

Occasionally  he  took  snuff  from  a  golden  box 
with  the  royal  arms  on  the  lid,  and  then  again  he 
would  look  out  of  the  low  window  before  which  a 
crowd  of  loafers  was  assembled.  They  were  trying 
to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  man  of  quality  within,  who 
had  come  with  so  great  a  retinue  to  meet  my  Lord 
Galloway.  It  was  even  reported  that  he  was  one 
of  the  Royal  Princes  travelling  in  disguise. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  noise  in  the  passage.  The 
clear  determined  demand  of  a  feminine  voice  pre- 
dominated. Then  came  the  lower  tones  of  a  man 
refusing  some  request.  Both  of  these  were  iter- 
ated and  reiterated,  growing  every  moment  more 
insistent,  till  with  a  gesture  of  annoyance,  the  man 
at  the  table  went  to  the  door  and  flung  it  wide 
open. 

"What  is  this  unseemly  brawl?"  he  cried  in  the 
tone  of  one  accustomed  to  be  obeyed. 


94  Love   Idylls 


At  sight  of  him  his  secretary  and  the  valet  who 
had  been  barring  the  way  fell  back,  and  between 
them  their  master  found  himself  gazing  at  one  of 
the  loveliest  maidens  it  had  ever  been  his  lot  to  be- 
hold. She  was  dressed  in  a  short-pleated  kirtle, 
over  which  was  a  silken  overskirt  prettily  draped 
to  show  a  tiny  foot  and  the  turn  of  a  handsome 
ankle. 

The  girl's  colour  was  vivid,  her  eyes  at  once 
brimful  of  tears  and  brilliant  with  indignation. 

"A  girl  of  spirit,"  thought  Mr.  Henry  Pelham, 
First  Lord  of  the  Treasury  of  King  George  II.,  and 
at  present  in  that  august  monarch's  absence  abroad 
Lord  Justice  of  the  three  kingdoms  as  well. 

As  soon  as  Bell  saw  her  way  plain  before  her, 
she  ran  to  Pelham  and  clasped  his  arms  as  if  for 
protection. 

"I  knew  I  would  see  him.  I  knew  he  would 
listen  to  me !"  she  cried  triumphantly.  "My  lord, 
will  you  protect  me  from  these — domestics? 
They  would  not  let  me  see  you  !  You  will  not  per- 
mit them  to  drag  me  away.  They  would  not  dare, 
when  you  are  by !" 

"No,  no,"  said  my  Lord  Justice;  "come  in, 
madam,  and  tell  me  what  it  is  you  wish  with  me !" 

Mr.  Henry  Pelham  was  embarrassed  at  being 
taken  without  his  wig,  in  which,  like  the  locks  of 


The  Fitting  of  the   Peats  95 

Sampson,  abode  much  of  the  formal  dignity  of  his 
age. 

"Place  a  chair  for  the  young  lady,  Benson,"  he 
commanded,  and  as  the  valet  obsequiously  did  so 
and  Bell  followed  him,  with  her  eyes  on  the  floor, 
my  Lord  Justice  endued  himself  swiftly  with  his 
wig,  and  then,  standing  in  a  dignified  attitude  by 
the  mantel-piece,  looked  at  the  vision  of  loveliness 
which  had  so  suddenly  burst  in  upon  his  seclusion. 

"You  need  not  wait,"  said  Mr.  Pelham  gravely 
to  his  servant  Benson.  The  door  closed  instantly, 
and  he  turned  towards  his  visitor.  She  had  risen 
also  to  her  feet,  and  after  regarding  him  a  moment 
with  a  troubled  countenance,  all  suddenly  she  took 
two  or  three  swift  steps  and  fell  on  her  knees  be- 
fore him.  At  the  same  time  her  hat  slipped  over 
backward  and  hung  upon  her  shoulders  by  its 
ribband. 

The  First  Lord  of  His  Majesty's  Treasury  stood 
aghast.  His  very  wig  trembled  with  amazement 
in  every  hair. 

"Oh,  will  you  forgive  your  nephew,"  she  cried; 
"he  has  been  a  rebel,  I  know,  and  he  should  not 
have  come  from  France.  But  I  made  him.  I  am 
a  wicked,  wicked  girl  (though  you  might  not  think 
it  to  look  at  me).  But  he  loved  me,  and  he  had 
not  seen  me  for  so  long.     And  so  would  you  have 


g6  Love   Idylls 

returned  if  you  had  loved  me  as  he  did.  You 
know  you  would.  For  you  are  just  like  him;  your 
eyes  are  the  same.  So  you  won't  hang  him.  I 
rode  at  a  gallop  all  the  way  to  tell  you  first  before 
any  one  else — and  oh,  you  won't  let  them  put  him 
in  prison,  or  kill  him.  Indeed,  he  only  came  to 
see  me " 

Tears  were  running  fast  down  her  face  by  this 
time,  and  every  sentence  was  punctuated  with  her 
sobs.  She  had  taken  possession  of  Mr.  Pelham's 
hand,  and  now  held  it  fast  in  both  of  hers. 

"What — what,"  quoth  my  Lord  Justice,  stam- 
mering in  sheer  amazement,  "what  is  this?  I  do 
not  understand.  What  nephew  of  mine?  My 
nephew  Harry  is  an  officer  in  the  King's  army,  and 
at  this  moment  has  gone  out  to  capture  a  lurking 
rebel  of  Lord  Dalmarnock's  forces  who  has  re- 
turned at  the  peril  of  his  life  to  this  country-side!" 

"That  is  he — that  is  he!"  cried  Bell,  loosening 
her  grasp  and  holding  up  her  hands  clasped  before 
him  in  the  attitude  of  the  sweetest  and  most 
pathetic  supplication;  "the  rebel  he  went  to  take 
was  your  nephew  Adam  Home.  And  he  found 
him  on  the  moor — with  me.  I  was  teaching  him 
to  fit  peats.  And  he  never  plotted  any  against 
King  George  or  anybody.  He  never  so  much  as 
mentioned  his  name." 


The   Fitting   of  the   Peats  97 

"Adam  Home — my  nephew?  You  mean  Lord 
Kilpatrick.  That  is  the  only  rebel  nephew  I 
have,"  said  Mr.  Pelham.  "He  is  in  France — in, 
let  me  see,  Avignon,  with  the  Young  Pretender; 
that  was  the  last  news  we  had  of  him !" 

Bell  passed  this  absolute  declaration  of  her 
lover's  quality  without  a  heart-beat.  She  was  hard 
on  the  track  of  something  else — his  life. 

"But  it  is  the  same,"  she  said,  repossessing  her- 
self of  the  great  man's  hand.  "He  came  straight 
from  Avignon  to  see  me.  And  we  were  to  be  mar- 
ried on  Thursday,  and  then  go  away  again.  Oh, 
do  let  us  go,  and  we  will  never  trouble  you  or  the 
King  again." 

"Ha — ahem!"  said  my  Lord  Justice,  "this  is 
grave  indeed.  My  nephew  Adam,  a  proscribed 
rebel  and  companion  of  the  Young  Pretender,  in 
Scotland,  and  being  brought  here  in  custody!" 

"Yes,  but  in  your  custody  and  your  kind 
nephew's!  Nobody  else  will  be  the  wiser.  And 
he  is  so  sorry  for  rebelling,  and  he  will  never 
do  it  any  more.  I  will  see  to  it  myself  that  he  does 
not!" 

"Rise,  my  good  girl!"  said  Mr.  Henry  Pelham, 
thinking  how  awkward  it  would  be  if  my  Lord 
Galloway  should  happen  to  come  in  at  that 
moment.     "Allow  me  to  assist " 


98  Love   Idylls 


"No !  I  will  not  rise  from  my  knees  till  you  have 
promised  me  his  life.  You  will  not  let  them  hang 
him.  Send  him  away  anywhere — only  let  me  go 
with  him.  He  will  get  into  no  more  mischief  then, 
I  warrant  you !" 

"There !  There ! — We  will  see  what  can  be 
done !"  said  Mr.  Pelham,  touching  Bell's  curls  in  a 
fatherly  way,  and  finding  pleasure  in  the  task. 

"But  promise !  I  will  kiss  your  foot  if  you  will 
only  promise!"     Bell  spoke  vehemently  now. 

"That  is  not  necessary.  Indeed,  not  my  foot  on 
any  account  when  you  are  about  it.  Your  hand ! 
No,  they  shall  not  hang  Adam  for  a  traitor.  I 
promise  you  they  shall  not.  Gad,  I  did  not 
think  that  the  dog  had  the  spirit  in  him  to  make  a 
girl  like  this  so  much  in  love  with  him !" 

Bell  was  now  on  her  feet  and  stood  before  my 
Lord  Pelham,  looking  down  and  twisting  her 
slender  fingers. 

"I  wish  any  one  so  pretty  loved  me  half  as 
much !"  said  my  Lord  Justice,  taking  snuff.  He 
was  rather  pleased  with  himself  now  that  he  had 
passed  his  word. 

"You  are  very  like  your  nephew.  The  same 
figure  of  a  man — only  a  little  more  mature !"  said 
the  sly  minx,  looking  with  a  certain  admiration  at 
the  portly  figure  of  the  First  Lord. 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  99 

"Ahem  !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Pelham,  brushing  down 
his  lace  ruffles  daintily,  "Gad,  it  is  true.  That 
young  rascal's  mother,  my  poor  sister,  always  said 
so.  Well,  well,  you  shall  have  your  lover,  though 
I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  he  deserves  you  !" 

Then  he  looked  again  at  her  under  his  shaggy 
brows. 

"But  pray  who  may  you  be,  young  lady,  who 
have  thus  captured  and  tamed  so  shy  a  bird  as 
Adam  Home?" 

"I  am  called  Bell  Mac  Lurg.  My  father  is  a 
laird  in  this  county  of  Galloway.  But  I  have  no 
money  of  my  own.  So  we  shall  be  very  poor  un- 
less"— she  went  close  up  to  him  and  laid  her 
hand  on  the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  caressing  it  softly  as 
if  she  had  been  accustomed  to  do  it  all  her  life — 
"unless  you  think  there  is  any  chance  of  Adam 
getting  back  some  of  his  property.  Do  you  think 
there  is,  Uncle?" 

The  stern  features  of  the  First  Lord  relaxed  into 
something  approaching  geniality.  "You  would 
make  a  fool  of  me  between  you.  I  warrant  Adam 
put  you  up  to  all  this." 

"Oh  no,  he  did  not,"  asserted  Bell  hurriedly;  "he 
does  not  know  I  am  here.  He  will  be  very  angry. 
But  I  can  soon  make  it  up  with  him.  Now,  can 
he  have  his  estates  back — or  some  of  them?" 


ioo  Love   Idylls 


She  faltered  a  little,  and  showed  symptoms  of 
relapsing  again  into  tears.  My  lord,  alarmed  and 
thinking  of  my  Lord  Galloway,  approached  her 
side. 

"Do  not  cry,  like  a  good  girl.  And  we  shall  see 
— we  shall  see.  But,"  he  hesitated,  "the  King  had 
as  good  as  promised  them  in  reversion  to  me. 
And  indeed  I  do  not  see  what  I  am  to  get  out  of  all 
this  if  I  give  back  the  estates." 

He  took  his  fair  petitioner  by  the  soft,  rounded 
chin  and  turned  up  her  face.  He  saw  two  blue 
eyes  looking  into  his  through  a  mist  of  unshed 
tears. 

"I  am  an  old  fool,  I  know,"  he  growled,  "to  let 
myself  be  cozened  by  a  brat  like  you  out  of  some- 
thing like  ten  thousand  a  year." 

Bell  clapped  her  hands  joyously. 

"Can  he  have  them  then?  Will  you  promise? 
If  you  do — I — I  will  give  you  a  kiss.  I  never  gave 
a  man  a  kiss  before." 

"What,  not  Adam?" 

"No,  not  Adam!" 

She  forgot  to  say  that  he  had  taken  one  or  two. 

"By  Gad,  it  is  tempting — I  will !  It  makes  a 
man  young  again !  But  it  must  be  with  all  the 
forms.     No  dab  on  the  nose  for  Harry  Pelham !" 


The   Fitting  of  the   Peats  101 

"Besides,"  said  Bell,  casting  down  her  eyes  and 
hesitating. 

"Besides  what,  you  baggage?"  cried  my  lord, 
looking  admiringly  at  her. 

Bell  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then,  warned  by  a 
noise  on  the  street,  said  quickly,  with  a  dangerous 
upward  glance  at  the  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury, 
"besides,  you  will  like  having  me  for  a  niece.  Even 
at  Court  it  is  permitted  to  kiss  one's  uncle!" 

The  door  of  Mistress  Douglas's  best  parlour  was 
suddenly  opened.  Without  were  my  Lord  Gallo- 
way, Lord-Lieutenant  of  the  County,  with  Ensign 
Henry  Pelham,  of  his  Majesty's  Fifth  Dragoons, 
and  between  them,  a  prisoner,  stood  Adam  Francis 
Charles  Home,  eighth  Lord  Kilpatrick. 

This  is  what  these  three  saw. 

Henry  Pelham,  Lord  Justice  and  Prime  Minister 
of  the  Realm,  was  bending  from  the  heights  of  an 
austere  dignity  to  lay  on  the  smiling  lips  of  beauty 
a  chaste  salute — nay,  as  it  seemed,  to  repeat  one 
that  had  already  been  offered  upon  the  same  altar. 

"Ha!"  cried  my  Lord  of  Galloway;  "ha,  Pelham, 
fairly  landed  this  time,  Pelham,  my  boy !" 

"Uncle!"  said  Ensign  Harry  Pelham,  aghast. 

"Bell !"  cried  Adam  Home,  yet  more  aghast. 


io2  Love   Idylls 


"Gad,  Pelham,  I  must  have  a  Garter  at  least  for 
holding  my  tongue  about  this.  It  is  too  good  to 
keep  from  the  coffee-houses !  Horace  will  crack 
fifty  jests  on  this !"  laughed  jovial  Galloway. 

"I  did  not  know  that  the  old  fellow  went  in  for 
this!"  murmured  his  nephew  who  had  been 
lectured  about  his  behaviour  at  the  last  Assembly 
Ball. 

Adam  Home  said  nothing  more,  but  kept  his 
eyes  on  Bell,  who  stood  with  her  hands  clasped 
demurely  about  his  uncle's  arm,  looking  down  and 
blushing  becomingly,  yet  with  a  pretty  air  of  pro- 
prietorship very  clearly  marked  indeed. 

"Ahem !"  said  Mr.  Pelham,  at  last  recovering 
himself,  "you  mistake.  You  do  not  know  this  very 
remarkable  young  lady.  Not  even  you,  Adam, 
you  rascal,  can  lay  claim  to  knowing  her.  This  is 
— what  is  your  first  name  again,  my  dear? — This 
is  my  niece,  the  Lady  Bell,  eighth  Viscountess  Kil- 
patrick.  And  if  any  man  of  you  has  a  word  to  say 
to  it,  or  any  quarrel  with  the  innocent  kinsmanly 
privilege  of  which  you  have  been  witness,  damme, 
let  him  step  out  into  Mistress  Douglas's  inn-yard, 
where  Harry  Pelham's  sword  is  very  much  at  his 
service !" 

And  the  old  gentleman  stood  patting  the  little 
hand  of  his  companion,  all  the  while  frowning  and 


The  Fitting  of  the  Peats  103 

browbeating  his  three  interrupters,  throwing  out 
his  chest  and  nodding  with  his  head  till  his  bushy 
eyebrows  became  as  threatening  as  those  of 
Majesty  itself. 

"And  now,  Adam,  you  dog,  come  here!"  he 
cried;  "this  is  the  young  lady  who  saved  not  only 
your  life  but  your  lands.  One  was  forfeit  to  the 
King's  laws,  the  other  to  my  breeches'  pocket.  I 
have  given  both  into  this  young  lady's  hand.  You 
must  beg  them  from  her.  You  do  not  deserve 
either.  You  have  behaved  abominably  to  the  best 
of  uncles,  sir,  and  to  the  most  paternal  of  sov- 
ereigns. But  we  will  say  nothing  more  about  that, 
if — ahem — if  you  gentlemen  will  give  me  your 
word  of  honour  to  say  nothing  about  the — ah — 
little  ceremony  it  was  your  good  fortune  to  witness. 
Galloway  will  not,  I  warrant.  I  know  a  thing  or 
two  too  many  about  him.  Harry,  by  the  Lord  I'll 
break  you  if  you  peach.  And  as  for  you,  Adam 
Home,  you  will  have  job  enough  on  your  hands  to 
keep  this  young  lady  out  of  mischief !" 

"Mischief!"  said  Bell,  innocently,  lifting  her  eyes 
for  the  first  time  from  the  floor. 

"Yes,  madam,  mischief!"  frowned  Mr.  Pelham; 
"I  repeat  it — mischief.  Making  a  fool  of  men  who 
ought  to  know  better,  men  more  than  thrice  your 
age !     Adam,  your  rebelling  days  are  over,  my  lad. 


104  Love   Idylls 

Willy-nilly,    you    must    join    the    Government.     I 

hear  that   you   are  to   be   married   on  Thursday! 

Well  all  I  can  say  is — God  help  you!" 

******* 

"Adam !"  said  Bell,  three  days  after,  when  all  was 
over,  "What  a  blessing  it  was  not  your  aunt  I  had 
to  deal  with  in  the  inn-parlour  at  Cairn  Edward ! 
In  that  case  you  would  have  been  hanged  instead 
of  wed!" 


THE   COUNT  AND   LITTLE 
GERTRUD: 

A  STORY  OF  THE  SEVEN  WEEKS' WAR 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  DAISY-CHAIN 

The  Count  St.  Polten-Vassima  was  walking 
slowly  along  one  of  his  forest  paths.  He  was  not  in 
the  least  thinking  where  he  was  going.  He  had  quite 
recently  and  unexpectedly  come  into  both  the  title  and 
the  property,  and  he  was,  for  the  time  being,  staying 
in  one  of  the  smaller  rooms  of  the  great  unfinished 
castle  which  his  father  had  begun  and  his  brother 
had  continued.  The  new  Count  St.  Polten  was  tall, 
dark,  meditative — a  soldier,  yet  nevertheless  consti- 
tutionally inclined  to  a  certain  graceful  melancholy. 
Even  his  recent  dignities  had  not  very  obviously 
cheered  him.    It  was  now  that  still  hour  of  the  after- 


io6  Love   Idylls 


noon  when  Nature  takes  her  summer  siesta,  and  St. 
Polten  walked  along  the  woodland  glade,  sober  as  a 
funeral  to  look  upon,  but  nevertheless  happily  and 
conscientiously  sad  within.  It  pleased  him  to  ob- 
serve the  absence  of  elation  in  himself.  As  he  saun- 
tered, his  mind  far  away,  he  did  not  observe  that  he 
had  approached  close  to  one  of  the  cottages  of  his 
people — that  of  Alt  Karl,  his  ancient  Jagdmeister, 
whom  many  years  ago  his  father  had  ordained  to 
teach  him  all  the  mysteries  of  the  hunt  and  the  se- 
crets of  the  wood,  while  yet  he  was  but  a  wild 
younger  son  of  the  great  house  of  the  Counts  of  St. 
Polten. 

"Cuckoo!  cuckoo!"  called  suddenly  a  bird-voice 
above  his  head.  Something  whirled  lightly  through 
the  air  and  settled  about  his  neck.  The  Count  looked 
up  quickly  and  caught  just  one  glimpse  of  a  girl's 
laughing  face  vanishing  at  the  window  above  him. 
Then  he  looked  down  and  found  a  daisy-chain  caught 
round  his  neck  and  hanging  about  his  shoulders. 

The  Count  St.  Polten- Vassima  stood  awhile  in 
wonder,  not  ill  pleased,  only  fingering  the  ring  of 
flowers,  and  smiling  quietly  to  himself.  Presently 
there  came  along  the  forest  path  towards  him  a 
stern-faced  erect  old  man,  who  carried  himself  with 
a  curious  mixture  of  forest  freedom  and  soldierly 
precision. 


The   Count  and   Little  Gertrud     107 

It  was  Alt  Karl,  the  tenant  of  the  house  under 
which  the  Count  stood.  He  looked  curiously  at  the 
daisy-chain,  but  said  nothing.  The  Count  noticed 
the  question  in  the  old  man's  eyes. 

"No,  Karl,  I  do  not  wear  one  of  these  chaplets 
as  a  rule,"  he  said;  "but  the  fact  is,  either  an  angel 
from  heaven  crowned  me  with  flowers,  or  else " 

And  he  paused  and  looked  up. 

"It  was  my  minx  of  a  Trudchen !"  cried  Alt  Karl, 
finishing  his  master's  sentence;  "I  saw  her  busy  at 
the  making  of  it.  I  cannot  control  her  since  her 
mother  died.  She  will  do  nothing  but  play  pranks 
or  scour  the  hills  with  a  gun,  and  boasts  that  she  is 
as  good  a  jager  as  there  is  in  all  the  forest  (which 
is  a  thing  most  true) — besides  being  as  good  a 
mountaineer  as  there  is  on  the  mountains,  as  if  these 
were  worthy  ambitions  for  a  young  girl.  But  it  is  a 
good  thing  that  she  goes  to-morrow  to  her  aunt's 
school  in  Breslau;  there  of  a  surety  she  will  learn 
something  more  befitting  a  modest  maiden." 

"I  trust,"  said  the  Count  pleasantly,  "that  you 
will  convey  to  the  young  lady  my  sense  of  the  great 
honour  she  has  done  me  by  bestowing  upon  me  this 
flowery  token  of  her  favour." 

"On  the  contrary,"  cried  Alt  Karl,  "I  shall  be- 
stow upon  her  a  great  scolding  whenever  I  catch  her, 
minx  that  she  is!" 


io8  Love  Idylls 


And  so  with  a  mutual  salute  of  military  exactness 
the  Count  and  his  old  and  privileged  Jagdmeister 
parted,  the  nobleman  to  return  to  his  vast  and  lonely 
barracks,  Alt  Karl  to  enter  angrily  the  cottage  with 
the  roses  crowding  about  the  porch. 

"Gertrud !"  Alt  Karl  called  sternly,  stamping  his 
foot  a  little.  He  had  stopped  to  listen,  standing  just 
within  the  door  of  the  quiet,  dusky  sitting-room. 

No  one  answered  to  his  call.  He  could  hear  the 
two  clocks  ticking  loudly,  one  on  the  wall  of  the  salon 
and  the  other  over  the  mantel-piece  in  the  kitchen. 

"Cuckoo!"  all  suddenly  cried  a  voice  behind  him. 

Alt  Karl  could  not  restrain  a  violent  start.  The 
bird  seemed  so  near  him — at  his  very  ear,  in  fact. 
He  looked  up  just  as  the  Count  had  done,  and  in- 
stantly he  found  himself  bepelted  from  head  to  foot 
with  a  shower  of  roses,  which  a  tall,  bright-faced  girl 
of  thirteen  or  fourteen  poured  out  of  her  apron  upon 
his  upturned  face.  She  had  been  standing  on  tiptoe 
all  the  time  upon  a  chair  set  behind  the  sitting-room 
door. 

The  tricksy  maid  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed 
merrily. 

"A  forfeit !  a  forfeit !"  she  cried.  "It  is  the  fete 
day  of  the  flowers.  And  the  new  Count  owes  me  a 
forfeit  also!" 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     109 

"I  would  have  you  understand  that  it  is  not  the 
custom — "  began  her  father  sternly. 

"A  forfeit  or  a  kiss,  father!"  she  cried;  "and  if 
you  scold  me  a  single  word  I  declare  I  shall  ask  the 
Count  for  a  kiss  too!" 

And  launching  a  random  salute  at  her  father, 
which  alighted  on  the  top  of  his  nose,  she  danced 
out  among  the  sunlit  summer  flowers  as  lightly  and 
irresponsibly  as  a  gossamer  blown  by  the  winds. 


iio  Love   Idylls 


CHAPTER   II 
the  convict  gang 

"Halt!" 

It  was  Under-Officer  Richter  who  spoke.  And  in 
war  time  this  same  stiff  Alt  Karl  did  not  speak  with- 
out reason.  Never  had  the  discipline  of  the  Imperial 
White  Coats  showed  better  than  now,  when,  defeated 
and  decimated,  the  weary  remnants  of  the  great 
army  of  the  double  empire  stood  at  bay  just  long 
enough  to  allow  Feldzeugmeister  von  Benedek  to 
rally  and  reorganise  his  scattered  forces  under  the 
guns  of  Olmutz  and  Vienna. 

"Halt!  The  enemy!"  muttered  Under-Officer 
Alt  Karl. 

'The  brushwood  is  good  enough  for  me,"  said  his 
colonel,  the  Count  of  St.  Polten-Vassima.  And  with 
the  alertness  of  a  mountaineer  he  betook  himself  to 
cover  till  the  enemy  should  develop  his  strength.  It 
was  the  Count's  duty  to  protect  the  hill-road  which 
crosses  the  Austrian  Alps  to  Verona,  to  mask  the 
weakness  of  the  fortresses  of  Moelk  and  Neustadt, 
to  forward  supplies  from  the  Tyrol,  and  generally 
to  retrieve  an  irretrievable  misfortune  with  which  he 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     1 1 1 

and  his  men  had  had  nothing  whatever  to  do.  He 
had  now  but  twenty-seven  men  to  do  all  these  things 
with.  Also  these  twenty-seven  were  hungry  men, 
for  in  the  sullen  retreat  from  the  stricken  field  of 
Koniggratz  there  had  been  no  time  for  more  than  a 
mouthful  of  "wurst"  out  of  the  knapsack,  and  the 
hasty  draught  of  water  as  they  passed  over  a  brook. 
The  Count  had  commanded  well  nigh  five  hun- 
dred men  when  the  big  guns  first  spoke  across  the 
valley  on  the  morning  of  the  3d  of  July.  Five  hun- 
dred gallant  fellows  had  lain  among  the  wet  corn, 
all  night  and  arisen  with  hope  in  their  hearts  out  of 
the  crushed  and  muddy  rye.  Then  first  of  all  St. 
Polten's  command  had  been  flung  out  across  the 
Prussian  skirmish  line,  and  the  deadly  fire  of  the 
needle-guns  had  wrought  him  sore  havoc.  After 
that  the  grape-shot  from  the  orchards  of  Sadowa 
had  left  many  of  his  brave  Tyrolers  dead  among  the 
silent  water-mills  of  the  village.  His  five  hundred 
were  barely  three  when  Chlum  was  taken,  and  when 
with  the  Field-marshal  at  their  head  the  Imperial 
White  Coats  dashed  at  the  intrenched  Prussian 
Guards  of  the  army  of  the  Crown  Prince.  There 
St.  Polten  left  two  out  of  his  three  hundred,  on  the 
bare  slopes  which  were  swept  by  the  needle-gun  of 
the  North,  even  as  the  broad  Danube  is  swept  by  the 
slantwise  western  rain. 


i  i  2  Love   Idylls 

And  when  the  pursuit  quickened,  and  the  retreat 
bade  fair  to  become  a  rout,  was  it  not  the  Count  St. 
Polten-Vassima  who  pushed  his  war-worn  hundred 
across  and  across  the  line  of  advance,  and  with  the 
scanty  ammunition  at  his  command  dulled  with  des- 
perate valour  the  edge  of  the  victory-hunger  of  the 
3d  Prussian  Army  Corps?  For  though  their  guns 
were  but  few,  the  aim  of  the  Tyrolers  was  deadly. 
So  now,  with  belts  tightened  and  grey  set  faces,  St. 
Polten's  men  kept,  as  was  their  duty,  the  lonely  hill- 
road  to  Verona  with  but  twenty-five  bayonets — and 
Under-Officer  Alt  Karl. 

Already  this  remnant  of  the  Imperial  White  Coats 
had  been  forty-eight  hours  without  food  or  sleep, 
and  even  the  hardest  old  chamois-poacher  of  the  Inn 
valley  owned  himself  done  up. 

From  the  dense  covert  of  the  brushwood  the 
Count,  with  Alt  Karl  at  his  elbow,  watched  the  road 
beneath.  Certainly  a  large  party  of  some  kind  was 
marching  southward.  A  jabber  of  hoarse  voices 
rose  through  the  still  air.  The  Prussians  must  have 
risen  betimes,  thought  the  Count,  to  be  here  ere  the 
dew  was  off  the  grass  this  morning  in  mid-July. 
Then  a  gun  cracked.  The  sound  came  with  a  little 
jar  upon  the  party  in  the  brushwood.  They  were 
discovered,  so  each  man  of  them  thought,  and  auto- 
matically he  counted  the  precious  rounds  of  ammu- 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     113 

nition  which  remained  to  him.  Then  for  a  moment 
his  heart  went  pitifully  out  to  the  lass  away  in  the 
Tyrol  village  whose  cheek,  like  so  many  others  dur- 
ing the  terrible  seven  weeks,  would  pale  at  the  sight 
of  the  next  list  posted  at  the  village  Rathhaus. 

But  Under-Officer  Alt  Karl  rose  erect.  "Dumm- 
Kopf !  Convicts !  Assassins !"  he  exclaimed,  with  the 
contempt  of  a  soldier  for  the  bands  of  criminals  from 
the  southern  penal  settlements,  whom  the  policy  of 
weakening  and  withdrawing  the  military  guards  had 
encouraged  to  escape,  and  who  now  constituted  at 
once  a  difficulty  to  the  authorities  and  a  danger  to 
the  inhabitants  of  the  provinces. 

A  loose-marching  rabblement  of  men,  carrying 
guns  and  slung  wallets  of  various  patterns,  hurried 
southward  along  the  road  beneath  the  Tyrolers. 
Leaders  there  were  manifestly  none,  for  the  quarrel- 
ling and  noise  were  past  telling.  The  nostril  of  Un- 
der-Officer Richter  curled. 

"Shall  we  stop  these  swine-cattle?"  he  said;  "they 
are  here  for  no  good.  Murderers,  likely;  thieves, 
certainly." 

The  Count  nodded. 

"March!"  said  Alt  Karl,  hardly  above  his  breath. 
And  the  command  strung  stealthily  down  the  hill, 
taking  advantage  of  every  scrap  of  cover,  in  order 
to  reach  the  narrows  of  the  pass  before  the  head  of 


i  14  Love   Idylls 

the  convict  column  should  come  up.  Rollicking 
songs  rose  joyously  from  the  rascals  beneath,  lilting 
along  the  hillside  with  an  abandon  which  spoke  not 
of  war  but  of  wine.  The  nose  of  Alt  Karl  mounted 
ever  higher  and  higher. 

"Calf-heads!  Stupid  kerls!  Worse  than  scoun- 
drels !"  he  muttered.  "Would  that  I  had  them  in  the 
barrack-yard  for  three  months." 

At  last  the  twenty-seven  were  in  position.  Of  this 
Alt  Karl  informed  the  Count  with  an  upward  move- 
ment of  his  head,  somewhat  like  a  duck  giving 
thanks  to  a  kind  Providence.  Then  up  rose  St. 
Polten. 

"Stop!"  he  cried  loudly  to  the  men  beneath.  "To 
what  penal  establishment  do  you  belong;  and  where 
is  the  officer  in  charge?" 

The  convicts,  in  Austrian  prison  uniform,  stood 
still  with  open  mouths  on  the  road  beneath ;  but  so 
astonished  were  they  that  no  one  answered.  Only 
from  far  back  in  their  straggling  ranks  a  rifle 
cracked,  and  a  twig  spat  close  by  the  Count's  ear. 

"Pigs  of  the  city  slums !"  muttered  the  Under- 
Officer  under  his  breath.  And  he  kept  his  eyes  alert 
to  catch  the  Count's  every  movement. 

"Shoot  me  that  man  who  fired !"  cried  the  Count ; 
"and  those  two  at  the  head  of  the  column — no  more. 
We  cannot  afford  to  waste  ammunition  on  rascals !" 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     115 

Crack !  Crack !  Crack !  rang  out  the  three  shots. 
The  man  with  the  smoking  gun  fell  prone  upon  it. 
The  leader  of  the  advance  leaped  into  the  air  and 
collapsed  in  a  heap  on  the  ground,  while  a  third  man 
suddenly  reeled  and  grasped  his  leg  as  though  a 
wasp  had  stung  him. 

The  twenty-seven  White  Coats  rose  from  the 
brushwood. 

"Ready!"  cried  Under-Officer  Alt  Karl. 

The  convicts  from  the  settlements  started  to  run, 
but  the  commanding  voice  of  Under-Officer  Karl 
suddenly  brought  them  up  all  standing. 

"Halt!  pigs,  and  eaters  of  pigs'  meat!  Put  down 
the  guns,  which  are  the  property  of  the  Kaiser-like 
Apostolic  Majesty !    Ground  arms!    Pile  arms!" 

The  rascals  beneath,  held  by  the  threatening  muz- 
zles of  the  guns  of  the  twenty-seven  veteran  marks- 
men, reluctantly  piled  their  arms  in  obedience  to  the 
threatening  accents  of  the  voice  which  spoke  as  hav- 
ing authority. 

"I  was  not  ten  years  a  guard  of  such  scoundrels 
for  nothing,"  said  Alt  Karl  as  he  saluted  stiffly. 

The  Count  smiled.  He  had  hunted  and  cam- 
paigned too  long  with  Alt  Karl  to  take  any  offence 
at  his  abrupt  speeches  and  dictatorial  ways. 

"And  now,"  said  Alt  Karl,  "what  does  your  Ex- 


i  i  6  Love   Idylls 

cellency  wish  done  with  these  escaped  thieves  ?  Shall 
we  shoot  them  and  be  done?" 

"God  forbid !"  cried  the  Count,  who  was  more 
tender  of  heart,  and  had  seen  enough  killing  of  late; 
"they  may  have  those  that  love  them.  Even  as  you, 
Alt  Karl,  have  the  little  Gertrud  in  the  cottage  by 
the  pine-wood." 

"Wolves  and  swine  have  not  Trudas,"  muttered 
Alt  Karl  rebelliously.  "They  had  been  safer  shot, 
for  they  are  the  very  spawn  of  death  and  full  of  the 
treachery  of  the  devil !" 

"Speak  to  them,"  said  the  Count  wearily,  "and  tell 
them  that  they  are  free  to  return  to  their  homes.  We 
have  not  force  to  hold  them  and  do  our  duty  also. 
The  play  is  played.     Let  the  supers  go  home." 

So  Alt  Karl  erected  himself  once  more  to  bid  the 
ex-prisoners  dismiss  to  their  homes  and  settlements, 
and  be  grateful  for  the  clemency  of  the  commander. 
And  right  gladly  the  cowed  rascals,  who  had  doubt- 
less had  their  fears  of  Karl's  solution  of  the  matter, 
bent  their  heads  to  the  ground  and  scoured  away  to 
the  south. 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud      1 1 7 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  BIRD  OF  HOPE 

So  day  by  day  the  Count  of  St.  Polten-Vassima 
kept  the  road  which  leads  to  Verona,  and  day  nor 
night  none  came  near  him.  For  all  the  peasant  folk 
were  fled,  the  barns  were  exhausted  or  plundered, 
and  all  the  fields  were  desolate.  It  was  not  long  be- 
fore there  came  a  day  when  the  men  wanted  food. 
So  the  Count  bade  Under-Officer  Richter,  who  was 
also  Alt  Karl  and  his  own  Jagdmeister,  to  serve  five 
rounds  of  ammunition  to  each  of  the  best  five  shots 
and  let  them  go  out  to  kill  wood-pigeons,  where  a 
few  corn-patches  were  not  quite  trampled  down  and ' 
the  wheat  began  to  be  ruddy. 

It  happened  as  the  five  soldiers  set  out  to  leave  the 
camp  that  the  note  of  the  cuckoo  came  through  the 
trees,  rough  and  stammering  now  with  the  lateness 
of  the  season.  Then  first  one,  then  another,  and  at 
last  half-a-dozen  of  the  long,  grey,  ashen-breasted 
birds  swooped  noiselessly  down,  flying  their  short 
flights  from  tree  to  tree,  and  occasionally  uttering 
the  call  which,  though  rough  and  raucous  now,  still 
carried  the  eternal  freshness  of  spring  along  with  it. 


1 1  8  Love   Idylls 


"Let  us  try  if  the  'kuckuck'  is  good  eating/'  cried 
Alt  Karl.  And  one  of  the  White  Coats  lifted  his  gun 
to  fire  at  the  bird  as  it  flashed  past.  But  the  Count 
of  St.  Polten-Vassima  sprang  to  his  feet.  His  face 
had  suddenly  grown  pale. 

"Down  with  your  guns !"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that 
had  more  of  the  war  rasp  in  it  than  even  that  of  Alt 
Karl.  "If  one  of  you  so  much  as  fires  a  shot  at  a 
cuckoo,  I  will  give  him  the  contents  of  my  revolver!" 

The  men  stopped,  open-mouthed  with  wonder- 
ment. Alt  Karl  was  so  astonished  that  he  forgot  to 
put  down  the  boot  which  he  had  been  tying,  and  so 
held  it  for  a  long  moment  suspended  in  the  air. 

But  the  Colonel  did  not  choose  to  give  any  expla- 
nation of  his  strange  manifestation  of  temper,  and 
the  five  White  Coats  saluted  and  betook  themselves 
wonderingly  to  their  several  quests.  Alt  Karl  also 
went  about  his  business  of  gathering  together  a 
small  cairn  of  stones  for  the  camp  kettle,  and  the 
cooking  of  the  provision  with  which  he  expected  the 
marksmen  to  return.  But  he  collected  first  the  stones 
and  then  the  fuel  mechanically,  for  in  his  heart  he 
was  busily  conning  reasons  for  the  strange  behaviour 
of  his  officer  and  master  the  Count. 

For  an  hour  St.  Polten  sat  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen 
pine,  deep  in  thought.  Then  raising  his  head  he 
summoned  Alt  Karl  to  him. 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     119 


"Karl,"  he  said,  "do  you  remember  the  illness 
that  brought  you  to  a  shadow  and  the  gates  of  the 
dead?" 

"Remember!"  said  Alt  Karl;  "do  I  forget  it  for  a 
day,  or  your  most  noble  kindness?" 

"And  do  you  remember  how,  one  morning  in  the 
spring  when  the  leaves  were  greening,  I  came  to  you 
in  the  little  chalet  under  the  hill?" 

"  'Ah,'  you  said,  'it  is  over,  Count  Rudolph,  all 
over;  I  shall  never  hear  the  "kuckuck"  again.'  Then 
at  that  moment  the  little  Trudchen  came  running  in. 
'Father,'  she  said,  with  a  voice  like  sleigh-bells  ring- 
ing over  the  snow,  heard  from  the  other  side  of  a 
lake,  'father,  I  hear  the  "kuckuck"  calling.'  So  we 
two  that  were  men  listened  like  little  children  for 
the  voice  of  the  bird — ay,  as  it  had  been  for  the  sen- 
tence of  the  Angel  of  Life  and  Death.  But  we  could 
not  hear  the  sound.  So  in  my  arms  I  took  you  up 
and  carried  you  out  till  I  set  you,  all  rolled  in  the 
blankets  of  the  great  bed-chair  I  had  given  you, 
blinking  like  a  great  white  owl  there  in  the  sunshine 
of  the  morning.  Then  there  came  two  cuckoos, 
courting  the  same  mate  to  grant  them  her  favours, 
and  the  gladsome  cry  of  'kuckuck'  went  round  the 
forest. 

"  'Now  you  know,  father,'  said  your  little  Truda, 
'that  you  will  certainly  get  better.     For  to-day  you 


i  20  Love   Idylls 


have  heard  the  "kucktick,"  and  the  spring  is  here.' 
And  that  is  the  reason  why  I  would  not  permit  the 
shooting  of  a  cuckoo.  No,  Karl,  nor  ever  shall  while 
I  am  Rudolph,  Graf  St.  Polten-Vassima  and  colonel 
even  of  a  broken  regiment." 

Alt  Karl  went  and  stood  before  his  master.  He 
bent  his  stiff  grey  head  uncovered  and  took  the 
Count's  hand.  He  raised  it  to  his  lips  and,  as  the 
manner  of  the  Austrian  Tyrolers  is,  he  kissed  de- 
voutly the  signet-ring  upon  it. 

"Master,"  he  said,  and  the  tears  were  not  far  from 
his  eyes,  "master,  God  has  given  me  a  good  pupil, 
in  other  things  than  the  learning  of  the  Jagd.  Sav- 
ing your  great  honour  and  high  nobleness,  I  that  am 
but  a  poor  huntsman  love  you  as  a  son  for  the 
gracious  words  spoken  to  Alt  Karl  this  day." 


The   Count  and    Little    Gertrud     1 2 1 
CHAPTER   IV 

A  ROSEBUD  OF  TWENTY-ONE 

The  war  of  the  Seven  Weeks  was  over,  and  the 
twenty-seven  Tyrolers  disbanded  till  the  regiment 
should  be  reorganised.  The  sudden  quarrel  of  South 
and  North  had  been  as  suddenly  made  up.  The 
Count  went  back  to  his  corner  of  the  great  house  of 
St.  Polten.  His  heart  was  yet  more  heavy  within 
him,  for  the  pride  of  his  nation  had  been  trampled 
upon  by  the  strong  rude  feet  of  the  invaders  from 
the  north — iron-cast  Prussians,  as  he  called  them, 
bullocks  from  grey  Pomerania. 

But  when  the  Count  had  taken  one  look  at  the 
gaunt  unfinished  mass  of  his  chateau  he  turned  away 
with  genuine  sadness,  dragging  at  his  moustache 
— for  the  third  army  corps  of  the  enemy  had  come 
that  way  on  its  swoop  for  Vienna.  Horses  had 
been  stalled  in  the  billiard-room  and  field-guns  stored 
in  the  chapel.  In  the  dining-hall  the  surgeons  had 
done  their  abhorred  divine  work.  The  garden  was 
a  mere  waste,  and  a  wild  pig  was  rooting  there 
among  the  untended  flowers  even  as  he  looked.  The 
panelled  front  door  had  been  used  as  a  target  for  the 
revolver  bullets  of  the  Northern  officers. 


122  Love   Idylls 


So  the  Count  of  St.  Polten  turned  away,  he  hardly 
knew  whither.  He  was  a  lonely  man,  with  no  one  in 
the  world  genuinely  to  love  him,  and  it  was  much  the 
same  to  him  where  he  went.  So  at  least  he  told  him- 
self. He  would  see  his  lawyers,  his  land-agent,  his 
Jagdmeister,  and  then  set  out  for  Paris.  This  was 
his  resolve  as  he  strode  away  from  St.  Polten  with 
a  sense  of  solitude  and  desolation  settling  like  lead 
about  his  heart. 

His  feet  rather  than  his  will  carried  him  to  a  sunny 
south-looking  glade,  with  a  cottage  that  stood 
banked  against  the  sheltering  pine-wood.  It  was  the 
chalet  of  Alt  Karl,  but  how  unlike  the  other  chalets 
of  the  forest  people !  Roses  over-clambered  it,  creep- 
ers dominated  the  walls  and  roof,  a  vine  cast  its 
snaky  tendrils  round  the  chimney,  the  gravel  walk 
was  of  hard-packed  sand,  and  carefully  swept. 

"Cuckoo!  cuckoo!" 

It  was  the  same  bird's  voice  he  had  heard  there 
years  ago,  but  with  a  new  elan,  a  fresh  brightness  in 
it.  The  Count  paused  a  while  in  the  leafy  shadow 
of  the  porch,  for  it  was  pleasant  there  out  of  the  heat. 
Suddenly  there  came  a  soft  rustle  as  of  wings  or 
summer  draperies,  a  patter  down  the  stairs,  a  rush 
out  of  a  door,  and  a  clear  voice  exclaiming,  "Why 
don't  you  answer,  old  curmudgeon  of  a  father?    Do 


The   Count  and  Little  Gertrud     123 

you  really  think  I  cannot  see  you  hiding  there  in  the 
porch?" 

Two  arms  were  thrown  impulsively  about  the 
Count's  neck,  and  then  turning  he  found  himself 
closely  face  to  face  with  the  dismayed,  terrified  eyes 
of  the  fairest  maid  it  had  ever  been  his  lot  to  see. 
The  girl  stood  before  him  crimsoning  from  brow 
to  bosom.  Her  hands  had  fallen  from  his  shoulders 
to  her  sides,  and  had  again  been  half-way  lifted  to 
her  eyes  as  if  to  cover  her  face  from  the  shame.  She 
took  her  breath  short,  panting  like  a  captured  bird 
that  fears  mishandling.  The  Count  St.  Polten  was 
equally  surprised.  His  heart  certainly  jolted  within 
him  in  a  manner  strange  and  unwonted.  And  when 
he  awoke  to  himself  he  had  his  dirty  campaigner's 
cap  in  his  hand,  and  was  bowing  over  the  girl's  hand 
as  though  she  had  been  the  Empress-Queen  herself. 

But  suddenly,  with  a  startled  recognition  of  her 
tardy  dutifulness,  the  girl  knelt  before  him  and  set 
his  hand  to  her  lips,  kissing  the  signet  of  the  Count's 
ring  as  her  father  had  done. 

"The  Count !"  she  murmured.  "I  have  been  rude 
to  the  Count,  my  father's  gracious  lord !" 

Rudolf  St.  Polten  raised  the  maid,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  resented  the  homage  which  was 
his  unquestioned  right  as  grand  seigneur.      "And 


124  Love   Idylls 

you?"  he  said,  as  if  he  had  answered  a  previous 
question  of  hers  as  to  his  own  identity. 

"I  am  only  little  Gertrud  Richter,  daughter  of 
your  Jagdmeister  Karl." 

"Not  the  little  Truda  whom  I  used  to  set  on  my 
knee  and  feed  with  sweetmeats  and  brown  spiced  bis- 
cuits! Not  little  Truda  who  called  'kuckuck,'  and 
threw  the  flowers  about  my  neck!"  The  Count 
looked  at  the  bright  young  girl  from  head  to  foot 
as  if  his  mind  could  not  compass  the  greatness  of  the 
change. 

"Even  so,"  she  said,  blushing  yet  again,  for  the 
sense  of  his  greatness  was  fresh  upon  her.  "I  have 
been  for  five  years  in  Breslau  at  school,  and  have  just 
come  home  to  take  care  of  my  father." 

A  swift  sense  of  the  happiness  of  Alt  Karl  broke 
in  upon  the  lonely  Count.  His  Jagdmeister  had  this 
to  come  home  to  when  his  day's  work  was  done.  For 
himself  he  had  only  the  mildewed  walls  of  the  great 
barracks  over  yonder,  defiled  by  the  Prussians  and 
wasted  by  the  wild  boar  out  of  the  wood. 

Suddenly  the  maid  clapped  her  hands  together 
with  a  pretty  gesture  of  despair. 

"What  have  I  done?"  she  cried.  "I  am  dumb  and 
stupid  with  your  so  unexpected  coming.  I  had  well- 
nigh  forgotten  to  bring  you  in  and  offer  you  refresh- 
ment." 


The  Count  and   Little  Gertrud     125 

And  she  led  the  way  into  a  cool  room,  with  green 
blinds  set  at  an  angle  to  keep  out  the  sun's  heat.  In 
the  corner  of  the  room  there  was  a  bower  of  greenery 
— ferns  and  flowers,  and  a  little  jetted  spray  of  water 
that  tinkled  and  laughed  in  the  midst.  Behind  were 
bright  love-birds  and  Japanese  sparrows,  in  a  cage 
which  nearly  filled  one  entire  end  of  the  little  salon. 
A  piano  was  set  thwartwise  in  the  angle.  Music  was 
strewn  here  and  there.  A  paper-covered  book  lay 
face  down  on  the  window  seat,  and  a  mighty  wolf- 
hound aroused  himself  from  the  fireplace  to  sniff 
the  new-comer  all  over.  Then  with  silent,  reluctant 
approval  the  beast  went  back,  and  lay  down  with  a 
sigh  of  regret  that  the  intrusion  needed  no  hostile 
intervention  on  his  part.  Pervading  everything 
about  the  chalet  there  was  the  charming  sense  of 
feminine  occupancy,  that  delicate  refinement  alien 
to  man,  which,  is  yet  the  more  delightful  to  him  on 
that  account. 

The  Count  sat  down  in  wonder.  Alt  Karl's  house 
as  he  remembered  it  in  his  boyhood,  had  been  a  bare, 
clean  place  in  which  a  strong-handed,  plain-favoured 
old  peasant  woman  perpetually  washed  and  baked 
and  scolded.  He  could  hear  the  ring  of  her  voice 
still  as  she  called  a  certain  ragged,  coltish,  long- 
limbed  lass  away  from  the  sweet  sawdusty  smells  of 
the  sawmill  down  by  the  St.  Polten  water,  or  sent 


126  Love   Idylls 

her  voice  up  the  hill  to  bring  the  same  unlicensed 
wanderer  down  out  of  the  resinous  silences  of  the 
pine-wood,  where  she  had  been  all  too  happily  play- 
ing bo-peep  with  the  squirrels. 

While  he  thus  dreamed  Truda  stood  by  the  win- 
dow, her  instinctive  reverence  for  the  Count  of  St. 
Polten — her  father's  master,  whom  she  had  watched 
and  worshipped  many  a  day  as  he  strode  past  to  the 
hunting — struggling  with  her  training  in  the  free 
scholastic  commonwealth  of  the  far-off  Silesian  city. 

With  quick  intuition  the  girl  caught  the  wonder 
in  the  face  of  the  Count  as  he  looked  about  him. 

"It  is  my  aunt,"  she  said  timidly.  "She  had  been 
very  kind — too  kind.  She  wished  to  keep  me  with 
her  in  Breslau,  but  I  could  not  leave  my  father  for 
a  longer  time.  So  she  gave  me  the  piano  and  these 
other  things  to  remind  me  of  the  school  in  Breslau 
which  had  been  my  home  for  five  years." 

The  Count  felt  a  sudden  and  infinitely  curious 
jealousy  of  the  city.  This  maid  was  a  flower  of  his 
own  gloomy  forest,  a  plant  of  the  free  pine-woods 
and  the  dashing  highland  brooks.  What  had  she  to 
do  with  pianos  and  school-mistresses  and  scholastic 
cities? 

"Not  that  I  am  likely  to  forget  sweet  Silesia,"  she 
said  and  sighed. 

The  Count  felt  his  gloom  return  yet  more  fully 


The   Count  and   Little  Gertrud     127 

upon  him.  He  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the 
squirrels  cracking  the  juicy  young  cones  of  the 
larches  and  biting  the  tops  of  the  young  trees.  The 
plain-faced,  strong-armed  woman  he  used  to  see  in 
the  house  of  Alt  Karl  moved  across  the  glade 
towards  the  door  with  a  basket  in  her  hand.  It 
seemed  not  a  day  since  he  had  seen  her  last.  Her 
hair  might  be  a  little  greyer,  that  was  all.  "If  you 
will  not  sit  down,"  said  the  Count  at  last,  "I  must 
stand  up  also  and  then  I  must  go." 

Obediently  Gertrud  sat  down  by  the  window  and 
leaned  against  the  sill  the  heavy  coil  of  fair  hair  she 
had  wound  carelessly  round  her  head,  instead  of 
allowing  it,  as  was  the  local  custom,  to  hang  down 
her  back.  A  spray  of  scarlet  creeper  fell  over  it  as 
the  wind  blew  softly  in,  and  a  tangle  of  swaying 
vine  leaves  cast  flickering  shadows  upon  its  flat, 
dull,  golden  mass. 

The  Count  thought  of  his  journey  to  Paris  with 
a  sudden  dismay  and  a  sense  that  he  was  leaving 
something  infinitely  more  desirable  behind  him. 
The  Count  was  thirty-five,  and  to-day  he  felt  twenty 
years  older.  The  brief  seven  weeks'  campaign  had 
touched  the  dark  hair  above  his  temples  with  grey. 
His  life  also  seemed  all  grey  and  wearisome,  ever 
since  the  eagles  of  Austria  had  gone  down  at  Konig- 
gratz  before  the  carrion  vultures  of  the  North.    The 


i  28  Love  Idylls 

Count  awoke  from  a  kind  of  day-dream,  to  find  him- 
self calculating  how  old  this  girl  might  be  who  sat  so 
innocently  with  him  in  the  house  of  Alt  Karl. 

'Twenty-one  and  a  rosebud?' :'  he  quoted,  think- 
ing aloud. 


The   Count   and   Little   Gertrud     129 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  SIEGE  OF  THE  CHALET 

But  Gertrud  did  not  seem  to  hear.  She  was  look- 
ing at  something  across  the  open  grassy  space,  with 
parted  lips  and  eager  wide-open  eyes. 

"Look!"  she  cried,  manifestly  troubled;  "look! 
there  are  two  or  three  men  hiding  yonder  in  the 
shadow.  They  are  not  folk  of  St.  Polten  nor  of  the 
neighbourhood." 

The  Count  rose  quickly  from  his  chair  and  came 
to  her  side.  She  pointed  with  her  finger  to  the  edge 
of  the  pine-wood.  For  a  minute  his  less  accustomed 
eyes  could  discern  nothing — only  the  shadowed 
spaces  of  the  glade  interspersed  with  the  staring  sun- 
light and  the  blue  wash  of  cool  shadows. 

"Quick!"  she  cried  breathlessly.  "I  see  another 
and  another.  They  have  guns  and  curiously  marked 
dresses.  They  are  crouching  in  the  dusk  behind  the 
trees.  Do  you  not  see  them  just  there  behind  the 
oleander?" 

And  now  the  Count  St.  Polten  saw  a  man  with  a 
convict's  jacket  and  a  peaked  forage  cap  set  cross- 
wise on  his  head,  lying  in  the  dark  of  the  bushes, 


130  Love   Idylls 


and  behind  him  two  or  three  others.  Instinctively 
he  felt  for  his  revolver.  He  knew  the  rascals  now. 
It  was  a  section  of  the  band  of  escaped  criminals 
whose  leaders  he  had  killed,  and  from  whom  he  had 
taken  the  guns  on  the  way  to  Verona.  He  knew  in 
a  moment  that  they  were  seeking  his  life.  But  very 
calmly  he  picked  up  his  own  cap  which  he  had  let 
fall  by  his  side. 

"I  must  bid  you  adieu,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said; 
"it  is  time  that  I  went  away."  For  as  he  said  to  him- 
self, it  was  no  use  bringing  this  young  girl  into  a 
matter  which  concerned  himself  alone. 

"I  will  go  and  find  your  father,"  said  the  Count. 

But  the  maiden  never  moved,  watching  eagerly 
from  the  open  window.  She  put  out  one  hand  a  little 
behind  her  as  if  to  command  his  silence.  Then  very 
calmly  she  walked  to  the  window,  set  her  elbows  on 
the  sill,  looked  listlessly  and  carelessly  up  and  down 
the  green  glade,  and  finally  broke  into  a  gay  folk- 
song, the  notes  of  which  rang  jauntily  across  the 
silent  spaces  of  the  wood.  She  stretched  her  arms 
slightly  and  yawned,  as  if  she  were  weary  of 
the  sleepiness  of  the  heavy  day  and  listless  with  the 
stirless  air  of  noon. 

Then  quite  slowly  she  drew  herself  back  into  the 
room,  pulling  the  green  sparred  wooden  shutters 
after  her  and  bolting  them  within. 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     1 3 1 

"Run  quickly,"  she  said  to  the  Count;  "close  the 
back  door,  bolt  it,  and  also  the  little  wicket  window 
in  the  angle.    I  will  attend  to  the  front  door." 

Whereupon  she  vanished,  and  the  Count,  smiling 
a  little  at  taking  his  orders  from  little  Gertrud  Rich- 
ter,  hastened  to  do  her  bidding.  He  passed  through 
the  kitchen,  where  old  Elizabeth  stood  speechless 
at  the  unwonted  apparition  of  the  noble  Count  St. 
Polten  marching  through  her  kitchen  and  banging 
and  double-locking  her  back  door.  Then  going 
quickly  to  the  angle  behind  the  staircase,  St.  Polten 
almost  thrust  his  hand  into  the  face  of  a  dark-browed 
man  who  was  staring  keenly  in  through  the  wicket. 
But  at  the  sight  of  the  Count's  revolver,  then  a  com- 
paratively rare  weapon,  and  much  feared  in  Austria 
and  the  Quadrilateral,  the  spy  turned  and  fled. 

"Now  they  are  warned  of  our  preparations,"  said 
the  Count,  "we  shall  have  the  storm  presently." 

He  went  back  through  the  kitchen  into  the  little 
salon  and  there  he  found  Gertrud.  She  had  a  dozen 
guns  out  of  her  father's  presses  ranged  on  the  table, 
and  several  boxes  of  cartridges  stood  open  beside 
them.  The  ancient  Elizabeth,  with  a  somewhat  be- 
wildered look,  but  with  ready  capable  obedience,  was 
charging  the  older  muzzle-loaders  which  had  been 
used  for  years  at  the  chamois  shooting — guns  whose 
every  trick  and  kick  were  known  to  the  Count,  who 


132  Love   Idylls 

had  cuddled  them  to  his  shoulder  011  many  a  perilous 
ridge  and  remote  deer-pass  among  the  mountains. 

"Count,"  said  little  Truda  as  soon  as  he  entered, 
"if  you  will  take  the  wicket  in  the  angle,  you  will 
have  under  observation  both  the  sides  which  are 
nearest  the  wood.  I  shall  go  to  the  gable  window 
above,  whence  I  shall  be  able  to  see  any  one  who 
may  attack  us  across  the  grass." 

"But  why  trouble  yourself  at  all?"  the  Count  St. 
Polten  began,  a  little  proudly.  "I  can  account  for 
any  dozen  of  these  dogs  of  the  prisons." 

"Ah!  but.*'  said  little  Truda  wisely,  "they  are 
too  many  for  you.  I  have  counted  ten  already,  and 
such  rascals  as  they  would  never  fight  fair  but  would 
shoot  you  in  the  back." 

And  she  almost  pushed  him  to  his  position  in  the 
angle  at  which  he  had  seen  the  face  of  the  spy. 

Then  there  occurred  a  strange,  still  pause  before 
anything  happened.  The  sunshine  slept  white-hot 
in  the  open  spaces,  not  a  twig  moved  in  the  wood. 
In  the  grass  the  cicadas  shrilled  like  the  sharpening 
of  scythes  in  a  far-off  meadow.  The  Count  St.  Pol- 
ten-  Vassima  had  all  the  high-born  Austrian's  con- 
tempt for  the  rascal  sweepings  of  the  gaols,  but 
nevertheless  he  recognised  his  peril.  Doubtless  the 
band  of  desperate  men  would  do  their  best  to  revenge 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     133 

the  death  of  their  leaders  and  the  loss  of  their 
weapons. 

While  the  Count  was  still  meditating,  "crack" 
went  little  Truda's  first  shot  in  the  room  above.  It 
was  answered  by  the  cry  of  a  man  in  angry  pain,  and 
then  came  the  soft  trample  of  many  rushing  feet  over 
greensward. 

Crack !  crack !  The  swift  double  report  rang  out 
again  from  the  room  where  the  schoolgirl  of  Breslau 
kept  her  vigil. 

The  Count  was  on  the  point  of  rushing  up  to  suc- 
cour his  ally  when  she  called  down  imperatively, 
"Keep  your  place,  Count!  They  will  attack  you 
next.    I  can  keep  them  back  on  this  side." 

And  she  spoke  no  more  than  the  truth,  for  half  a 
dozen  muskets  spoke  from  the  woods,  and  then  with 
a  rush  as  many  men  sprang  out  of  the  covert  of 
leaves  and  ran  hard  for  the  back  porch  of  Alt  Karl's 
chalet.  If  once  they  got  safely  within  its  shelter,  it 
might  have  been  difficult  to  reach  them  with  bullets. 
Four  of  the  men  carried  a  long  straight  section  of 
tree  trunk,  to  be  used  as  a  battering-ram  to  force  the 
door. 

The  Count's  rifle  cracked,  and  the  nearer  end  of 
the  tree  dropped  promptly  to  the  ground.  The  man 
who  had  been  carrying  one  side  of  the  log  gripped 


134  Love   Idylls 


his  hand  to  his  thigh  and  roared  aloud.  The  Count 
laid  down  one  smoking  weapon  and  lifted  another. 
With  this  he  took  aim  at  the  nearer  of  the  two  dark- 
faced  men  who,  with  muskets  in  their  hands,  were 
by  this  time  much  closer  to  the  porch  than  those  who 
had  to  bear  the  burden  of  the  tree.  Again  the 
Count's  rifle  was  heard,  and  the  men  broke  for  the 
wood  without  waiting  for  more.  The  leaves  closed 
about  them,  and  there  was  a  great  and  instant  still- 
ness. 

As  Count  St.  Polten-Vassima  stood  at  his  wicket 
he  could  hear  Gertrud  Richter  in  the  room  above, 
loading  her  artillery  and  laying  each  gun  as  it  was 
ready  in  order  on  her  little  dressing-table.  He  him- 
self hastened  to  do  likewise.  Then  all  suddenly  a 
new  turn  was  given  to  the  situation,  for  Alt  Karl 
strode  out  of  the  wood  and  across  the  wide  green 
towards  the  front  door.  His  daughter  saw  him  first, 
for  that  was  her  chosen  side  of  the  house. 

"Run,"  she  cried,  "run  for  the  door,  father!  I 
will  open  it."  But  Alt  Karl  was  an  Under-Offker 
of  the  Apostolic  Kaiser,  and  it  was  not  his  habit  to 
run  till  he  saw  cause.  So  he  faced  about  and  looked 
calmly  all  about  him.  A  gun  went  off  to  the  right 
and  a  waft  of  white  smoke  arose.  Alt  Karl  took  the 
fowling-piece  from  his  shoulder  and  laid  it  to  his 
ear  ready  for  action.     Then  steadily,  as  if  he  had 


The   Count  and   Little  Gertrud     135 

given  himself  the  order  to  charge,  he  went  at  the 
double  straight  for  the  place  from  whence  the  bullet 
had  come.  But  before  he  had  gone  a  dozen  yards  a 
second  shot  was  fired  from  the  left.  Alt  Karl 
wavered,  stumbled,  and  went  over  on  his  face  with  a 
swirl,  his  gun  exploding  as  he  fell. 

By  this  time  Truda  had  the  front  door  open,  and 
was  on  the  point  of  rushing  forth  to  succour  her 
father.  .  But  Count  St.  Polten  took  her  by  the  shoul- 
der roughly  and  thrust  her  behind  him. 

"Stay  where  you  are,"  he  commanded;  "he  is  too 
heavy  for  you  to  carry." 

And  he  laid  down  his  gun  on  the  sparred  rustic 
seat  in  the  porch,  and  rushed  across  the  lawn  bare- 
headed. Bullets  whistled  about  him  as  he  ran.  But 
in  a  moment  he  had  reached  the  side  of  the  fallen 
man.  He  stooped  and  raised  Alt  Karl  in  his  arms. 
A  crowd  of  men  broke  from  the  coverts  on  right  and 
left,  and  with  fierce  howls  of  rage  rushed  towards 
the  Count,  who  stumbled  under  his  heavy  burden. 

Nevertheless  he  carried  his  Jagdmeister  swiftly 
enough  in  his  arms  towards  the  open  door.  As  he 
came  he  saw  Gertrud  kneeling  upon  one  knee  behind 
the  trellis  of  the  porch.  Swiftly  she  fired  one  gun 
and  then  another  till  she  had  exhausted  her  battery. 
Then  she  stood  up  with  her  father's  revolver  in  her 
hand,  and  as  he  approached  the  door  with  his  uncon- 


136  Love   Idylls 

scious  burden  on  his  shoulder,  he  could  hear  the 
sharp  crack  of  the  report,  and  simultaneously  the  spit 
and  whistle  of  the  bullets  as  they  passed  on  either 
side  of  him,  first  over  one  shoulder  and  then  over  the 
other.  So  accurate  was  the  young  girl's  aim  that 
the  charge  of  the  convicts  was  retarded,  though  not 
wholly  prevented.  As  Gertrud  clanged  the  door  and 
shot  the  bolts,  two  men  flung  themselves  against  it, 
and  one  fired  his  gun  into  the  keyhole.  But  the  solid 
oak  and  the  good  iron  bolts  stood  the  stress. 

"To  your  wicket!"  cried  Truda;  "I  shall  go  back 
to  my  window." 

She  only  reached  her  station  in  time  to  see  the  dis- 
appointed assailants  running  back  to  cover.  But  the 
lawn  was  fairly  sprinkled  with  the  wounded,  some 
limping,  some  crawling,  and  a  few  more  lying  deadly 
still.  All  was  safe  for  a  little,  so  having  again  loaded 
her  rifles,  Gertrud  ran  swiftly  down  to  look  after  her 
father. 

Alt  Karl  lay  with  his  head  supported  on  the 
Count's  arm.  His  daughter  cut  away  his  coat  deftly. 
The  bullet  had  gone  clean  through  his  shoulder,  be- 
tween the  joint  of  the  right  arm  and  the  spring  of 
the  neck,  but  very  near  the  surface — too  near  to  have 
touched  any  vital  part.  It  was  the  shock  more  than 
the  wound  which  had  felled  Alt  Karl.  Presently  he 
looked  up. 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     137 

"Trudchen,"  he  said,  "have  they  killed  your  father 
at  last?" 

But  his  daughter  smilingly  answered  him,  "  'Tis 
but  a  little  blood-letting  and  will  do  thee  good,  Father 
Karl.  It  is  not  for  gallows  thieves  to  make  an  end 
of  such  a  soldier  as  thou  art." 

So  when  they  were  somewhat  reassured,  and  the 
bleeding  stanched,  Alt  Karl  bade  them  to  lay  him 
along  a  couch  by  an  open  window  and  give  him  a 
gun  or  two,  for  it  was  natural  that  he  also  should 
desire  to  have  his  chance  at  the  scoundrels. 

But  for  a  long  time  there  came  no  sign  of  further 
attack.  The  peace  of  an  utter  quiet  settled  on  the 
little  chalet  and  its  encompassing  ring  of  sombre 
woodlands.  In  the  long  glades  where  the  confedera- 
tion of  the  flowers  strove  with  the  green  pigmy 
armies  of  the  grass  which  should  be  the  greater,  not 
a  blade  waved,  not  a  petal  nodded,  so  wonderful  a 
silence  brooded  over  all.  The  sun  smote  overbear- 
ingly down  upon  them,  so  that  the  humming  of  the 
bees  and  the  shrill  whistle  of  the  cicadas  almost 
ceased  as  the  performers  retired  to  take  their  siestas 
till  the  sun  should  creep  a  little  lower  in  the  white- 
hot  sky. 


138  Love   Idylls 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHO  SHALL  SAVE 

"I  like  this  not,"  said  Alt  Karl;  "it  goes  not 
soundly  right.  I  would  rather  see  the  scoundrels 
storming  up  to  the  doors  of  the  house,  yelling  for 
our  blood,  than  abide  this  uncanny  quiet." 

The  Count  St.  Polten  had  relapsed  into  his  cus- 
tomary lassitude,  save  that  his  eyes  sometimes  rested 
with  a  peculiar  expression  of  astonishment  on  the 
returned  schoolgirl  from  Breslau.  Gertrud,  on  the 
other  hand,  seemed  wholly  unconscious  that  she  had 
done  anything  remarkable.  The  repulse  of  an  or- 
ganised band  of  convicts  might  have  formed  part  of 
the  ordinary  curriculum  of  ladies'  schools  in  Silesia, 
so  calm  and  well  accustomed,  so  demure  and  uncon- 
scious sat  the  little  Truda  at  her  window.  But  she 
listened  eagerly  enough  to  the  talk  of  her  elders. 

"Doubtless  they  are  waiting  for  the  night,  to  steal 
upon  us  with  the  firebrand  and  the  drench  of  petro- 
leum," said  Alt  Karl ;  "that  is  the  way  we  burn  the 
villages  from  which  the  sharpshooters  fire  upon  our 
line  of  march." 

"There  is  part  of  a  cavalry  regiment,  Hussars  of 


The   Count  and   Little  Gertrud     139 

the  Black  Eagle,  lying  in  St.  Polten,"  said  the  Count. 
"If  by  any  means  we  could  get  the  news  taken  down 
there  we  might  have  succour  within  an  hour.  It  is 
but  three  miles,  and  if  there  were  a  man  of  courage 
in  the  neighbourhood,  he  might  run  with  the  news." 

Alt  Karl  shook  his  head. 

"It  needs  more  than  courage,  and  our  men  of  sense 
are  mostly  lying  between  here  and  Koniggratz,"  he 
said.  "Besides,  the  woodchoppers  and  peasants  will 
doubtless  think  that  we  of  the  chateau  amuse  our- 
selves with  firing  at  the  mark." 

Alt  Karl  held  those  low  views  of  the  intelligence 
of  the  countryfolk  about  St.  Polten,  which  are  the 
birthright  of  the  true  hillman  of  the  Tyrol. 

The  Count  lay  back  in  his  chair,  deep  in  medita- 
tion. He  drew  out  of  his  breast  pocket  a  silver  cig- 
arette case.  He  was  on  the  point  of  lighting  one, 
when  his  eyes  fell  on  Gertrud  Richter. 

"With  your  permission,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said, 
bowing  courteously. 

The  words  brought  a  grim  smile  to  the  face  of 
Alt  Karl,  a  smile  which  ended  in  a  little  twitch  of 
pain  as  his  wounded  shoulder  nipped  him. 

"  'Tis  just  my  little  Truda  home  from  school  in 
Breslau,  and  no  Mademoiselle  at  all,"  he  explained. 
For  often  in  the  Austrian  Tyrol,  with  regard  to  the 
meaning  of  words,  things  are  not  what  they  seem.  ... 


14°  Love  Idylls 

The  Count  looked  more  than  a  little  annoyed  and 
glanced  at  Truda,  but  she  had  taken  to  her  knitting, 
with  the  muskets  ready  on  the  table  beside  her  all  the 
time. 

"Your  permission,  Fraulein  Gertrud?"  he  said 
politely. 

Gertrud  smilingly  nodded  and  said  that  indeed, 
with  her  father's  habits,  she  was  well  enough  accus- 
tomed to  tobacco. 

'To  the  grand  pipe,  not  to  the  whiffing  of  straws," 
said  Alt  Karl  contemptuously,  pointing  to  the  array 
of  noble  bowls  and  six-foot  stems  on  the  wall. 

So  with  the  Count  smoking  and  Gertrud  making 
occasional  reconnaisances  to  the  upper  windows,  the 
still,  breathless  afternoon  wore  on  into  the  cooler 
stillness  of  the  evening  sunshine. 

All  the  while  little  Gertrud  was  busily  thinking. 
It  was  the  Count  and  her  father  whose  death  the 
convicts  aimed  at.  For  herself,  not  knowing  the 
hearts  of  the  human  wild  beast,  she  had  no  fear.  In- 
deed, had  she  known  all,  the  worst  would  not  have 
affrighted  her  so  long  as  within  the  chambers  of  her 
father's  revolver  there  slumbered  an  alternative. 

From  childhood  Gertrud  had  dwelt  in  this  place. 
For  fifteen  years  she  had  tried  every  path,  tested 
every  hiding-place  and  descended  into  every  hollow 
in  all  the  jagged  tangle  of  honeycombed  limestone 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     141 

country  about  St.  Polten.  She  remembered  especially 
the  long  ravine  cleft  of  St.  Martin,  which  began  so 
mysteriously  just  beyond  the  grassy  slope  of  the 
glade.  The  little  Trudchen  thought  deeply,  and  her 
thoughts  were  of  what  she  and  she  alone  could  do. 

Would  it  not  be  possible  for  her  to  run  across  the 
lawn,  drop  into  the  ravine  and  there  lie  hid  while 
the  convicts  were  searching  for  her?  From  thence 
she  might  be  able  to  make  her  way  down  the  bed 
of  the  stream  to  Martin's  Loch,  where,  in  rainy 
weather,  the  streamlet  spouted  through  an  archway 
of  stone  down  the  cliff  side.  She  had  clambered 
there  many  a  time  in  search  of  frost-gentian  and  saf- 
fron dandelion,  and  had  indeed  descended  half-way 
to  St.  Polten  along  the  side  of  the  cliff.  It  was  true 
the  foothold  was  exceedingly  precarious,  even  in 
daylight,  consisting  of  the  merest  projections  of  the 
limestone  rock.  But  no  one  had  ever  attempted  it  in 
the  twilight,  still  less  at  night,  at  which  time  alone 
she  could  now  hope  for  success. 

All  this  kept  passing  and  re-passing  in  the  busy 
little  brain  while  Gertrud  proceeded  with  her  knit- 
ting, or  went  her  rounds  above  and  below  stairs. 

"I  wonder  if  they  have  really  gone,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "or  if  they  are  only  lying  in  hiding.  I  shall 
try.  I  shall  give  the  real  'Mademoiselle'  a  chance  to 
distinguish  herself." 


142  Love   Idylls 

And  she  set  the  hunter's  Tyrolese  hat,  in  which  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  roam  the  woods,  upon  the 
head  of  the  dressmaker's  wooden  model,  which,  like 
a  thrifty  landward  damsel,  she  used  in  the  making  of 
her  attire.  She  set  ''Mademoiselle"  upon  a  chair 
with  a  cloak  about  her  and  pushed  her  to  the  win- 
dow. There  she  swayed  idiotically  forward  and 
leaned  against  the  sill  as  if  looking  out.  A  jet  of 
white  smoke  sprang  promptly  out  of  an  oleander 
bush  on  the  far  side  of  the  lawn.  There  followed 
the  sharp  report  of  a  stolen  needle-gun,  and  a  bullet 
pitted  itself  in  the  thick  beam  above  the  window. 

"Well  done,  Mademoiselle,"  said  Truda  smiling. 

And  she  withdrew  the  decoy  back  again  into  her 
bedchamber. 

Thereupon  Gertrud  went  down  and  explained  her 
scheme  for  bringing  relief,  telling  them  what  she  had 
done  with  Mademoiselle.  But  the  men,  knowing 
what  they  knew,  would  not  hear  of  her  plan  for  a 
moment.  If  any  one  was  to  go  for  help  it  must  be 
himself,  that  was  St.  Poltcn's  solution.  "If  we  are 
to  die,  why  die  we  must,"  was  that  of  Alt  Karl. 

But  in  her  heart  the  girl  refused  to  accept  either. 
The  Count  certainly  could  not  go,  because  he  did  not 
know  the  only  practicable  way  to  St.  Polten,  that 
through  Martin's  Loch.  Her  father  might  be  ready 
and  willing   to   die — but    not    so   she,    nor,    if   she 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     143 

judged  aright,  the  Count  either.  So  Truda  looked 
carefully  to  her  revolver,  which  had  been  her  father's 
during  the  war,  and  slipped  it  loosely  into  the  pocket 
of  her  hunter's  coat,  ready  to  her  hand.  Then  she 
put  on  the  short  mountaineer's  kilt  in  which  she  had 
so  often  gone  to  the  hunt  with  her  father,  and  set- 
ting the  man's  Tyrolese  hat  firmly  on  her  head  she 
stood  ready.  After  all  it  was  only  fifty  steps  or  so 
across  the  grass,  and  fifty  through  the  wood  to  the 
beginning  of  the  cleft,  and  in  the  quick-coming  dusk 
she  would  be  there  in  a  moment. 

The  dark  comes  swiftly  enough  among  the  wooded 
foothills  of  St.  Polten.  The  sun  was  already  set 
and  the  brown  shades  were  cooling  into  blue  with 
the  rising  of  the  night  mist  out  of  the  hollow  places. 

Truda  laid  her  plans  rapidly.  She  arranged  her 
half-dozen  guns  in  a  row  and  then  discharged  them 
one  after  the  other,  lifting  them  in  turn  to  her  shoul- 
der and  firing  them  into  the  belt  of  woodland 
through  which  she  meant  to  run.  The  Count  came 
anxiously  upstairs  to  see  if  she  had  precipitated  a 
general  engagement.  But  all  was  still  and  quiet,  not 
even  the  shaking  of  a  branch  betrayed  the  presence 
of  the  lurking  foe. 

The  girl  asked  the  Count  to  accompany  her  down- 
stairs for  a  moment.  There  was  something  to  be 
done  with  which  he  alone  could  help  her.     So  they 


144  Love  Idylls 

went  below,  and  Gertrud  very  swiftly  undid  the 
fastenings  of  the  back  door  of  the  chalet.  Then 
standing  on  the  doorstep  she  said,  "Now  I  mean  to 
go  down  to  St.  Polten  by  Martin's  Loch  to  bring 
up  the  cavalry.  Shut  the  door  swiftly  after  me!" 
And  with  that  she  was  gone  out  of  his  sight  before 
he  could  lay  a  hand  on  her,  melting  into  the  dusk 
like  a  shadow. 


The   Count   and   Little   Gertrud     145 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  CLEFT  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

The  Count  stood  a  moment  where  she  had  left 
him  in  speechless  amazement.  Then  he  took  a  hur- 
ried step  or  two  in  the  direction  of  the  wood,  as 
though  to  follow  and  bring  the  madcap  back,  but 
the  folly  of  this  proceeding  immediately  forced  itself 
on  him.  He  could  not  hope  to  catch  her.  He  knew 
nothing  of  the  way  by  which  she  had  gone.  He 
would  be  leaving  the  chalet  open  and  undefended, 
with  no  one  but  a  wounded  man  within. 

He  bolted  the  door  therefore  and  ran  up  to  the 
higher  window  which  had  been  Gertrud's  embrasure. 
Cautiously  he  looked  out  and  listened.  The  night 
was  very  still.  Not  a  breath  of  air  whispered  among 
the  pine  trees. 

"Cuckoo !  cuckoo !" 

The  voice  of  the  bird  came  clearly  and  cheerfully 
from  the  direction  in  which  the  girl  had  vanished. 
The  Count  took  it  for  a  good  omen,  and  the  prayer 
of  his  heart  became  a  thanksgiving. 

"That  was  little  Trudchen's  voice,"  said  Alt  Karl, 
when  the  Count  St.  Polten  re-entered  the  room 
where,  in  the  darkness,  the  old  man  still  kept  his  keen 


146  Love   Idylls 

vigil,  peering  out  of  the  open  window  across  the  nar- 
row space  which  divided  them  from  the  woods. 

Then  the  Count  told  Alt  Karl  all  that  his  Gertrud 
had  done.  But  the  old  soldier  showed  no  sign  of 
emotion. 

"It  is  in  the  hands  of  God,"  he  said.  "Did  she  take 
the  revolver?" 

"It  is  at  least  gone  from  its  place,"  replied  the 
Count. 

"Then  she  may  indeed  die,  as  may  we  all,"  said 
her  father;  "but  otherwise  I  am  not  greatly  afraid 
for  little  Truda." 

Rarely  had  Gertrud's  heart  beat  so  wildly  as  when 
she  dashed  across  the  lawn  into  the  thick  blackness  of 
the  woods.  Her  hand  was  on  her  pistol,  for  she 
knew  that  she  risked  infinitely  more  than  her  own 
life  upon  the  issue  of  her  quest.  She  might,  for  in- 
stance, for  all  she  knew,  have  run  straight  into  the 
arms  of  the  cruel  and  lurking  foe.  She  might  chance 
upon  the  very  spot  at  which  a  score  of  them  lay  hid- 
den. Nevertheless  she  sped  swift-foot  towards  the 
wall  of  leaves,  and  in  a  moment  she  was  stooping 
low  to  take  the  plunge. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  darkness,  a  little  way  to  the 
right,  two  men  emerged  and  looked  towards  the 
chalet.  Their  eyes  caught  the  flash  of  her  figure 
darting  past.    Without  a  word  they  closed  in  upon 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     147 

her,  compelling  her  to  enter  the  woods  a  little  more 
to  the  right  than  she  had  intended.  So  that  instead 
of  having  thick  woods  all  the  way  to  the  cleft's 
mouth,  she  had  to  cross  an  open  space  of  twenty 
yards  of  flower-sprinkled  grass. 

When  Gertrud  emerged  upon  this  little  woodland 
cirque,  where  a  thousand  times  as  a  child  she  had 
spread  her  cups  and  baked  her  mudpies  in  her  girlish 
housewifery,  she  almost  tripped  over  half  a  dozen 
men  all  lying  on  the  grass.  She  swerved  to  the  right 
in  order  to  avoid  them.  One  or  two  sprang  after 
her  with  growls  like  wild  beasts,  and  to  avoid  these 
new  assailants  Truda  had  to  dodge  between  her  first 
pursuers.  She  could  hear  them  crashing  after  her 
in  the  wrong  direction.  So  she  bent  her  head  till 
she  was  running  almost  double.  Truda  kept  along 
the  side  of  Martin's  cleft  for  a  hundred  yards  before 
plunging  into  it,  letting  herself  down  by  the  branches 
of  trees  and  bushes  into  its  depths,  and  clinging  per- 
ilously with  her  knees  to  every  jutting  crag  and  point 
of  limestone  rock. 

Her  pursuers  came  blundering  after.  She  could 
hear  them  calling  in  prison  slang  the  one  to  the 
other.  But  they  searched  in  vain,  for  not  one  of 
them  was  a  true  mountain  man  or  trained  in  the 
ways  of  the  woods. 

When  Gertrud  Richter  reached  the  gravelly  bot- 


148  Love  Idylls 


torn  of  the  cleft  of  St.  Martin  she  found  the  rivulet 
wholly  dried  up  by  the  long  heats  of  summer.  Here 
in  a  secure  recess  she  waited  full  five  minutes  to  let 
the  heat  of  pursuit  pass  by  overhead,  and  then  in  the 
stillness  which  ensued  she  cried  twice  "Cuckoo !"  It 
was  the  note  of  hope  which  had  cheered  the  heart 
of  the  Count,  hearing-  it  from  the  window  of  the 
beleaguered  chalet. 

Very  swiftly  the  girl  made  her  way  along  the  cleft, 
which,  as  in  the  manner  of  such  places  in  limestone 
districts,  now  opened  out  into  a  ravine  with  precip- 
itous sides,  now  contracted  into  a  passage  little  wider 
than  a  tunnel,  and  anon  debouched  quite  unexpect- 
edly upon  the  bare  side  of  a  precipitous  cliff. 

But  not  unexpectedly  to  Gertrud  Richter.  Many 
a  time  had  she  clambered  down  to  the  steep  break- 
neck path,  which  led  almost  to  the  roofs  of  St.  Pol- 
ten.  There  it  was  at  last.  Through  the  narrow,  half 
overgrown  opening  of  St.  Martin's  Loch  Truda  could 
see  the  lights  of  St.  Polten  glimmering  beneath  her. 
She  even  heard  the  band  playing — that  of  the  regi- 
ment which  she  was  risking  her  life  to  summon.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  could  almost  cry  down  to  them,  they 
were  so  near.  She  could  see  the  bright  lights  of  the 
cafe,  and  the  officers  sitting  in  front  of  it  at  the  little 
round  tables,  smoking  with  crossed  legs  and  no 
doubt  talking  infinite  scandal. 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     149 

But  there  was  a  hard  climb  yet  to  come — and  what 
made  it  much  more  difficult,  she  had  to  climb  down, 
not  upwards. 

But  little  Gertrud  grasped  the  edge  of  the  rocky 
sill  of  St.  Martin's  Loch  and  let  herself  drop  with 
confidence  over  the  bare  scarp  of  the  cleft.  Her 
feet  did  not  quite  reach  the  next  ledge,  so  she  let  go, 
with  a  catch  in  her  throat  lest  in  the  years  since  last 
she  had  been  there,  the  foothold  beneath  her  might 
have  been  knocked  away  either  by  the  weather  or  by 
some  random  mountaineer. 

No,  it  was  still  there.  Her  feet  gripped  the  broad 
firm  edge,  and  she  tiptoed  out  upon  it  to  feel  for 
the  rowan  tree  which  used  to  grow  from  a  cleft  to 
the  right.  It  was  gone,  and  Truda's  heart  for  the 
first  time  fluttered  wildly.  It  would  be  terrible 
should  she  be  fixed  all  night  on  this  bare  limestone 
ledge,  like  a  beetle  pinned  to  a  wall,  while  the  fiends 
above  were  making  an  end  of  the  one  most  Hear  to 
her  on  earth — that  is,  of  her  father. 

But  Truda  did  not  hesitate  more  than  a  moment. 
She  remembered  that  the  ledge  immediately  beneath 
her  was  very  broad,  and  that  the  rock  sloped  a  little 
towards  it.  So  without  a  moment's  hesitation  she 
swung  herself  over,  and  stretching  to  the  full  extent 
of  her  arms,  she  let  go.  She  slid  downward  bodily, 
snatching  at  every  smallest  prominence  which  would 


150  Love   Idylls 


break  her  fall,  and  in  doing  so  bruising  herself  most 
cruelly  upon  the  rocks.  But  what  of  that,  thought 
Truda,  when  once  she  stood  safely  upon  the  ledge, 
and  the  worst  was  over  ?  She  called  to  mind  that  a 
goat's  track  led  down  a  tail  of  debris  to  the  back 
of  the  Rathhaus  of  St.  Polten.  So  in  a  moment 
she  was  digging  her  heels  into  the  sliding  banks  of 
shale,  and  descending  recklessly  towards  the  lights 
of  the  town. 

In  five  minutes  more  Gertrud  Richter,  dishevelled 
and  bleeding  from  a  dozen  scratches  on  her  hands 
and  arms,  was  telling  her  tale  to  the  Colonel  of  the 
Hussars  of  the  Black  Eagle. 

"The  Count  of  St.  Polten  besieged  by  formats — 
impossible!"  said  he,  looking  at  the  wares  of  a  seller 
of  matches  and  automatically  selecting  the  one  with 
the  prettiest  picture. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the  impossibility,  the 
bugles  sounded,  the  saddles  filled,  and  the  hoofs  clat- 
tered merrily  up  the  road  towards  the  chateau  of  St. 
Polten. 

The  path  led  uphill  all  the  way,  but  the  men 
set  themselves  light-heartedly  to  their  task.  And 
first  of  them  all,  with  the  Colonel  a  little  way  be- 
hind her,  rode  the  Breslau  schoolgirl  upon  a  cavalry 
saddle. 

And  as  they  went  they  came  in  sight  of  that  which 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     151 

made  them  spur  yet  faster  and  more  fiercely — the 
flames  of  a  burning  house  mounting  redly  to  the 
skies.  The  heart  of  the  maid  throbbed  violently. 
Was  the  deed  which  she  had  done  to  be  all  in  vain  ? 
Were  the  rescuers  after  all  to  arrive  too  late? 

Not  till  the  white  coats  of  the  cavalry  had  sur- 
mounted the  last  rise  could  the  men  see  the  source 
of  the  flames.  But  they  heard  the  rattling  of  small 
arms,  the  crackling  of  timbers,  and  the  hoarse  shout- 
ing of  many  men. 

The  tall  columns  of  soaring  fire  made  an  awful 
flickering  twilight  among  the  gloomy  forest  glades. 
Presently,  with  anxious  hearts,  the  Hussars  of  the 
Black  Eagle  topped  the  brae,  and  there  before  them 
was  the  great  house  of  St.  Polten,  which  so  long  had 
stood  unfinished,  flaming  to  the  skies,  and  the  con- 
victs running  every  way  with  torches  and  blazing 
pine-faggots,  like  ants  in  a  disturbed  hillock  of  dry 
fir  needles. 

But  the  chalet  of  Alt  Karl  was  still  dark  and  un- 
touched. 

A  pile  of  faggots  had  indeed  been  laid  down  in 
the  porch  under  Truda's  roses,  and  was  just  begin- 
ning to  flame  up.  The  rattle  of  musketry  rang  about 
the  house  in  a  circle  of  fiery  flashes.  For  it  was  evi- 
dent that  the  convicts  had  found  more  arms  and  am- 
munition in  the  burning  chateau. 


IS2  Love  Idylls 

A  solitary  gun  replied  fitfully  from  the  windows 
of  the  chalet. 

So  busy  were  the  besiegers  that  the  cavalry  were 
actually  among  them  with  the  sword  before  they 
were  aware.  And  then  with  what  wild  yells  of  terror 
the  wretched  men  fled  for  the  shelter  of  the  woods, 
the  horsemen  riding  them  down  mercilessly,  so  that 
but  few  escaped.  For  the  marvellous  light  of  the 
burning  palace  shone  every  way,  even  into  the 
densest  thickets.  And  all  that  night  the  pursuers 
rode  hither  and  thither,  striking  and  killing  along 
the  woodland  ways  as  far  as  the  spring  of  St.  Mar- 
tin's cliff. 

Thus  ended  the  leaguer  of  St.  Polten.  For  several 
days  the  soldiers  hunted  high  and  low,  until  the 
whole  band  of  the  escaped  convicts  had  in  divers 
fashions  been  accounted  for. 

Within  the  chalet  there  had  been  desperate  work. 
Late  in  the  engagement  the  Count  had  been  wounded 
on  the  brow  by  a  chance  bullet ;  it  was  a  flesh  wound 
and  he  made  little  of  it  for  his  own  sake.  But  fierce 
anger  at  the  indignity  came  upon  him,  and  not  for 
all  the  entreaties  of  Alt  Karl  would  he  for  a  moment 
resign  his  place  at  the  windows.  So  that  at  last  the 
Jagdmeister,  tied  to  his  couch,  had  to  content  him- 
self with  preparing  the  guns  for  his  master  to  fire. 


The   Count  and    Little    Gertrud     153 

This  he  did  with  an  ever  darker  and  more  silent  fury 
as  the  night  went  on,  and  the  light  of  the  burning 
chateau  made  his  enemies  plain  in  its  fierce  glare. 

The  Count  as  he  fired  winged  every  bullet  with  a 
silent  curse. 

"This  for  her  who  gave  herself  for  our  sakes," 
he  said  below  his  breath. 

And  at  each  discharge  an  enemy  dropped,  out 
there  in  the  green  flamelit  fairway  of  the  glade. 

Presently  there  came  to  the  ears,  through  the  rat- 
tle of  the  musketry  and  the  shouts  of  the  incendia- 
ries, the  unmistakable  cavalry  cheer  of  the  Aus- 
trian horse,  and  the  clatter  of  disciplined  steeds,  then 
last  of  all  the  heady  elation  of  the  charge.  But  one 
there  was  that  rode  straight  up  to  the  door  of  the 
chalet  and  dismounted  swiftly,  minding  neither 
friend  nor  foe. 

The  Count  St.  Polten-Vassima  ran  to  open  the 
door. 

It  was  only  the  little  Truda  who  stood  there,  clear 
and  fair  in  the  great  light  which  shone  from  his 
burning  castle.  She  looked  down  at  her  short  kirtle, 
and  the  girl  who  had  ridden  the  cavalry  charger  at 
the  head  of  the  detachment  stood  blushing  and 
ashamed  before  him  whom  she  had  risked  life  and 
honour  to  save. 


154  Love  Idylls 

"I  brought  them  as  soon  as  I  could,"  she  sajd 
weakly,  and  then  began  to  cry  as  if  her  heart  were 
broken. 

But  the  Count  of  St.  Polten-Vassima  clasped  the 
daughter  of  his  Jagdmeister  in  his  arms  without  a 
word. 

*  *  #  *  Jjc  *  ■%. 

It  was  a  fortnight  later,  and  the  Count  had  re- 
turned from  Vienna.  Ostensibly  he  had  gone  to 
have  the  plans  prepared  for  the  new  house,  which  he 
was  to  build  by  the  heights  near  Martin's  Loch,  upon 
the  plateau  whence  one  can  look  down  upon  the  red 
roofs  of  St.  Polten. 

Yet  as  fast  as  his  feet  would  carry  him  he  hastened 
to  the  cottage,  which  had  resumed  its  perennial  quiet 
after  the  terrors  of  the  seige  to  which  it  had  been 
exposed.  As  the  Count  came  near  he  heard  the  rip- 
ple of  a  piano  in  the  little  salon.  Little  Gertrud  was 
singing  a  love  song,  quaint  and  old,  and  the  sound 
of  her  voice  brought  back  again  the  lonely  feeling 
into  the  heart  of  the  Count. 

Gertrud  came  sedately  to  the  door  and  asked  him 
to  enter,  and  would  have  gone  forthwith  to  find  her 
father.  But  he  took  her  hand  and  kept  it,  as  he 
looked  away  over  to  the  crest  of  the  hill,  where  his 
new  chateau  was  to  stand. 

"Truda,"  he  said,  "I  have  come  all  the  way  from 


The   Count  and   Little   Gertrud     155 

Vienna  to  ask  if  a  girl,  beautiful  and  young,  can  love 
a  glum  useless  fellow  like  me." 

Gertrud's  eyes  were  on  the  ground,  and  for  a 
moment  she  did  not  answer,  but  her  hand  shook  in 
his. 

''You  must  marry  a  great  lady,"  she  began  at  last, 
her  voice  quavering. 

"A  Count  St.  Polten-Vassima  can  wed  where 
he  chooses.    The  Emperor  himself  has  said  it." 

"But,"  faltered  Truda,  compelling  her  rebellious 
heart  to  be  still,  "there  are  ladies,  beautiful  and 
clever,  in  Vienna,  in  Paris,  in  all  the  cities  where  you 
will  go." 

The  Count  laughed  a  little,  and  pointed  up  to  the 
frees  which  nodded  over  the  defile,  at  the  bottom  of 
which  lay  the  perilous  pass  through  which  she  had 
passed  so  lately. 

"Beautiful  ladies — clever  ladies — without  doubt 
many,  little  one.  But  which  of  these  beautiful  ladies 
would  have  risked  Martin's  Loch  at  blackest  night 
for  me?  And  which  would  have  thrown  herself 
down,  bruising  her  fair  hands  on  the  white  cliffs  of 
St.  Polten,  all  to  save  my  worthless  life?" 

"But  it  was  for  my  father,"  whispered  Truda, 
glancing  at  him  just  once,  with  a  spark  of  the  an- 
cient mischief  quick  in  her  eye. 


LOVE  AMONG   THE   BEECH 

LEAVES 

"Elizabeth  Macandrew!  Saw  ye  ever  the 
make  o'  that  lassie?  I  declare,  there  she  is  at  the 
barn-end  wi'  the  laddies  again !  I'll  fetch  her  in  by 
oot  o'  that."  Thus  hopefully  from  the  kitchen  door, 
to  whomsoever  it  might  concern,  Mistress  Robin 
MacAndrew,  the  goodwife  of  Pitlarg. 

A  fine  sunny  afternoon  in  the  heart  of  summer  it 
was  at  Pitlarg.  The  hens  were  scraping  in  the  hot 
roadway  and  scattering  dustbaths  over  their  backs, 
clucking  low  to  themselves  for  very  content  in  the 
holes  in  the  hedges.  Pitlarg  dreamed  a  dream,  and, 
as  it  were,  turned  over  in  its  deep  sleep.  Nothing 
stirred  about  it  anywhere — except  Donald,  that 
ancient  black  pet  lamb,  now  grown  into  a  great 
sheep;  and  even  he  only  moved  restlessly  about  the 
farmyard,  and  thrust  his  nose  into  every  pail  and 
bucket  in  quest  of  something  to  eat.  It  was  never 
too  hot  or  too  cold  for  Donald  to  want  to  eat.  He 
had  been  out  with  the  cows,  it  was  true;  but  there 


158  Love   Idylls 


are  limits  to  the  society  of  cows,  for  one  so  enterpris- 
ing as  Donald. 

''Elizabeth  MacAndrew!"  cried  the  goodwife 
again  from  the  kitchen  door.  Now,  Elizabeth  is  not 
an  easy  name  to  cry  aloud,  which  is  a  reason  why 
dogs  and  horses  are  not  called  Elizabeth.  So  that  the 
herald  at  the  kitchen  door  had  to  do  her  best  with 
MacAndrew. 

But  name  and  surname  thus  cried  aloud  in  the 
farmyard  both  returned,  void  as  an  echo  to  the  her- 
ald in  the  white  baking  apron.  Only  a  sleepy  hen 
rooped  lazily  in  a  hole  under  the  hedge,  and  a  ban- 
tam cock  exerted  himself  just  enough  to  crow  de- 
risively. 

"Betsy  MacAndrew — my  certie,  gin  I  come  to  ye, 
ye  hempie !" 

The  words  lengthened  themselves  out,  still  with- 
out effect.  Donald,  the  pet  sheep,  came  lumbering 
awkwardly  to  his  mistress,  and  stuck  his  cold  moist 
nose  into  her  hand.  It  was  certainly  a  strange  time 
for  her  to  feed  him,  he  thought ;  but  Donald  was  not 
the  sheep  to  miss  a  chance.  One  never  knows.  On 
this  occasion,  however,  he  had  assuredly  drawn  a 
blank. 

"Gae  'way,  beast!"  said  Mistress  MacAndrew, 
shaking  her  baking  apron  at  him  with  one  hand, 
whilst  she  shaded  her  eyes  with  the  other  from  the 


Love   Among  the   Beech   Leaves     159 

sun  and  looked  along  the  road.  There  was  a  chang- 
ing group  at  the  end  of  the  barn,  on  that  smooth 
open  space  called  the  Playing  Green,  before  every 
Galloway  farmhouse,  on  which  many  generations  of 
children  have  played  and  maidens  danced, 

"It's  thae  Beattie  lads  an'  Rab  Christie,  the  new 
loon,  playin'  at  the  bools — an'  that  daft  lassie,  Eliza- 
beth, encouragin'  them  an'  playin'  wi'  them,  nae 
less." 

Mistress  MacAndrew  ran  in  suddenly,  struck 
with  a  wild  fear  that  her  last  girdleful  of  crumpy 
fades  of  cake  had  overbalanced  and  fallen  into  the 
grate. 

Being  satisfied  on  this  point  (by  finding  that  it 
was  only  a  hen  which  had  passed  her  outer  guard, 
and  was  stalking  about  the  kitchen  making  a  high- 
pitched  and  wearisome  plaint  in  a  minor  key),  she 
shooed  the  fowl  out.  It  hastened  away  in  a  foolish 
fluster,  and  continued  to  make  remarks  on  the  sub- 
ject all  across  the  yard  with  hurrying  footsteps  and 
drooping  rufflings  of  wing. 

Then,  with  an  access  of  determination  in  her  eye, 
Mistress  MacAndrew  took  a  hasty  survey  of  her 
kitchen  and  of  the  cake  drying  in  the  fireplace.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  no  accident  could  happen  for  five 
minutes.    So  she  went  to  the  door. 


160  Love   Idylls 


She  would  try  once  more. 

"Bess!"  she  cried.  But  neither  is  Bess  a  good 
name  to  carry,  specially  to  those  who  do  not  want  to 
hear,  on  a  slumberous  afternoon  when  the  sun  and 
the  sleepy  air  drown  the  voice. 

The  monosyllabic  adjunction  only  sounded  like  a 
goose  trying  to  bark.  Mistress  MacAndrevv  took 
the  life  of  her  precious  cake  in  her  hands  and  walked 
towards  the  scattering  and  changing  group  at  the 
loaning  head. 

"I'll  fetch  that  lassie  in  a  hurry,  I'll  wager  ye!" 
she  said. 

She  was  a  woman  of  some  firmness  of  character, 
but  her  husband's  brother's  daughter  was  almost 
too  much  for  her.    Niece  is  a  vain  word  in  Galloway. 

"James  MacAndrew's  lassie,"  was  what,  in  hours 
of  ease,  Elizabeth  was  called — with  an  accent  on  her 
parent's  name  which  intimated  that  James  had  not 
been  a  success  in  life.  At  other  times,  and  they 
were  the  more  numerous,  she  was  addressed  with 
simplicity,  as  "Bess,  ye  hem  pie!" 

Mistress  MacAndrew  had  the  dramatic  sense.  She 
drew  near  to  the  absorbed  group  along  the  covered 
way  of  the  orchard  wall,  that  she  might  take  them 
red-handed  in  the  midst  of  their  iniquity.  Presently 
she  stood  in  the  shade  looking  upon  their  play  almost 


Love  Among  the   Beech   Leaves     1 6 1 

from  striking  distance.  There  was  a  supple  willow 
wand  in  her  hand.  Nemesis  hovered  imminent — in 
a  baking  apron. 

They  were  four  who  were  playing  that  game  of 
marbles  which  is  known  in  the  simple  dialect  of  the 
place  as  Ringie.  Four  marbles  or  "bools"  lay  in  the 
ring,  at  the  four  cardinal  points  of  the  circle.  The 
"playing  bools"  or  taws  of  three  urchins  lay  at  vary- 
ing distances  from  the  ring,  each  watched  over  by 
its  owner;  while  a  slim,  long-limbed  girl  of  fifteen 
knelt  on  one  knee  and  shot,  with  swift  and  accurate 
jerk  of  the  thumb  and  forefinger,  her  taw  towards 
the  ring.  She  knocked  one  off,  pocketed  it  and  tried 
again.  The  second  time  she  missed,  and  it  was  Wull 
Beattie's  turn.  His  marble  did  not  reach  the  ring, 
but  lay  immediately  outside. 

The  next  boy,  Jock  Beattie  the  name  of  him, 
played  with  equal  lack  of  success.  The  girl  regarded 
him  with  an  air  of  contempt,  and  scratched  the  dust 
with  her  bare  toe — an  unseemly  thing  in  a  great  lass 
of  fifteen.  There  was  now  but  one  other  to  play, 
and  he  seemed  uncertain.  He  was  the  tallest  of  the 
three,  but  he  seemed  to  walk  in  a  maze.  The  sight 
of  him  awakened  the  worst  passions  in  the  breast  of 
the  white-aproned  watcher  by  the  barn-end.  He 
was  the  "new  loon"  of  the  farm,  hired  for  summer 
work,  and  set  to  cut  thistles  at  a  penny  an  hour.    Yet 


1 62  Love   Idylls 

here  he  was  playing  at  "the  bools"  with  the  Beatties 
and  Elizabeth  MacAndrew!  The  willow  wand 
twitched  and  turned  in  the  hand — not,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  spring  finder,  to  indicate  the  proximity  of 
water,  but  rather  that  of  fire.  The  fire  was  glowing 
in  the  breast  of  the  mistress  of  the  "new  loon,"  and 
was  soon  to  be  transferred  to  various  convenient 
outliers  of  his  person. 

But  the  "new  loon,"  whose  turn  it  was  to  play, 
did  unexpectedly  well.  The  Beatties,  indeed, 
laughed  at  him  for  his  way  of  holding  his  "bool," 
and  Bess  gave  him  a  little  shove  behind  with  her 
foot  at  the  moment  of  playing.  Nevertheless,  his 
marble  performed  the  notable  feat  of  "skinning  the 
ring."  It  knocked  off  all  the  three  marbles  that  lay 
round.     The  two  Beatties  yelled  with  disgust. 

But  Bess  MacAndrew  was  more  practical.  Also 
she  was  an  entirely  shameless  young  woman.  She 
bent  down  suddenly,  scooped  up  the  three  marbles 
that  had  been  on  the  ring,  the  new  loon's  playing 
taw,  and  that  which  of  rights  belonged  to  the  elder 
of  the  Beatties,  and  fled  fleetfoot  for  the  kitchen 
door  with  flutter  of  high-kilted  skirt. 

The  Beatties  gave  instant  chase,  though  they 
might  quite  as  well  have  hunted  the  summer  wind. 
Only  the  new  loon  stood  still,  wondering  in  his  slow 
way  what  had  happened.    He  had  no  satisfaction  on 


Love  Among  the   Beech   Leaves     163 


that  point,  but  he  found  out  very  soon  what  was  go- 
ing to  happen.  For  it  was  just  then  that  his  mis- 
tress made  her  appearance.  She  had  missed  the 
psychological  moment,  owing  to  the  crisis  which  the 
unexpected  act  of  Bess  MacAndrew  had  precipi- 
tated; but  at  the  instant  when  the  kitchen  door 
clashed  to  and  the  lock  clicked  in  the  inside,  the 
willow  wand  fell  on  the  dusty  jacket  of  the  new  loon, 
and  his  mistress  began  to  explain  his  duties  to  him. 

It  was  a  somewhat  distracting  lecture  for  the 
loon ;  for  in  the  background  the  Beatties  were  fling- 
ing themselves  on  the  kitchen  door  with  baffled 
howlings,  and  in  the  intervals  of  carpet-beating  upon 
his  jacket  the  mistress  of  Pitlarg  was  telling  him 
where  he  would  go  to.  The  new  loon  said  he  did  not 
care:  anything  for  a  change;  and,  indeed,  a  worse 
time  for  a  lecture  on  moral  philosophy  could  hardly 
be  conceived. 

When  it  was  over  the  new  loon  went  back  in  a 
dazed  condition  to  the  pasture  field,  where,  with  a 
hook  freshly  sharpened  at  the  grindstone,  he  had 
been  set  at  dinner-time  to  cut  thistles.  He  had  only 
come  to  Pitlarg  that  day;  and  when  Bess  MacAn- 
drew summoned  him  to  come  and  play  marbles  with 
the  Beatties  he  had  been  of  opinion  that  this  was  part 
of  his  daily  duties.  The  willow  wand  induced  him 
to  think  otherwise. 


i  64  Love  Idylls 

Then,  justice  being  so  far  satisfied,  Mistress  Mac- 
Andrew  turned  her  attention  to  the  Beatties,  who 
were  still  trying  to  get  in  at  the  kitchen  door.  They 
had  not  seen  what  happened  to  the  new  loon;  so 
that  when  the  wrathful  voice  of  the  mistress  of  the 
farm  arose  suddenly  behind  them,  and  the  first  sharp 
touches  of  the  willow  wand  fell  upon  their  appointed 
place,  it  is  little  wonder  that  they  turned  and  fled, 
leaving  their  bags  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  Miss 
Elizabeth  MacAndrew  stood  at  the  kitchen  window 
and  made  faces  at  them  as  they  ran.  She  held  up 
the  captured  marbles  in  her  hand,  threw  them  in  the 
air  and  caught  them  as  they  fell.  The  thoughts  of 
the  Beatties  were  prayers — taken  from  the  Psalms. 

But  the  new  loon  only  rubbed  himself  and  thought 
what  a  strange  place  Pitlarg  was.  He  had  come 
from  the  heathery  hillside  above  the  laird's  planta- 
tions, where  his  father  had  been  a  gamekeeper,  and 
Pitlarg  was  his  first  place.  His  mother  was  now  a 
widow,  and  he  had  come  away  from  home  in  order 
to  help  to  keep  her.  He  was  seventeen,  though  he 
did  not  look  so  much. 

Bess  MacAndrew  listened  with  due  deference  to 
her  aunt's  hortatory  lecture.  She  put  on  her  shoes 
and  stockings.  Then  she  went  and  set  all  the 
marbles  in  a  row  under  the  glass  case  of  the  clock  in 
the  "room,"  where  the  new  loon  could  see  them,  but 


Love  Among   the   Beech   Leaves     165 

_  __ ^ ■_■■_■■■•■ m ■■ ■■» u ■■■■ ^ a^ a h^ a ubmbb»>bbb ^ b^ via 

where,  owing  to  his  subordinate  position,  he  would 
have  no  right  to  go.  Bess  meant  to  make  it  interest- 
ing for  the  new  loon. 

His  name  was  Robert  Christie,  and  he  had  grown 
six  inches  during  the  year,  but  his  clothes  had  not 
accompanied  him.  His  joints  looked  like  knots  on 
beech  branches,  and  his  long  neck  gave  him  the  look 
of  a  jack  heron  that  has  just  alighted.  He  had  a 
Globe  Shakespeare  in  his  pocket,  Macaulay's  His- 
tory in  his  box  upstairs,  a  Milton,  and  three  volumes 
of  the  cheap  edition  of  Carlyle  (blessed  treasure  of 
Providence  for  boys  in  their  teens  during  the  sixties 
and  seventies!)  and,  besides  these,  a  Bible  which  his 
mother  had  given  him.  He  had  also  a  change  of 
everything.  So  he  promised  his  mother  to  read  his 
Bible.  And  Rab  Christie  was  a  boy  of  his  word, 
even  when  he  only  passed  it  to  himself :  much  more 
when  he  passed  it  to  his  mother. 

But  the  terms  of  his  engagement  were  unfortu- 
•  nate.  In  the  meantime  he  was  just  at  Pitlarg  on 
trial,  and  the  master  was  from  home  for  the  day. 
He  was  to  cut  thistles  at  a  penny  an  hour,  and  after 
a  week's  experience  at  his  work  William  MacAn- 
drew  would  tell  the  new  loon  whether  he  wished  him 
to  remain.  He  had  thus  come  in  between  terms,  ow- 
ing to  Pate  Tamson,  the  late  Pitlarg  boy,  running 
away  to  join  the  play-actors,  with  whom  he  learned 


1 66  Love   Idylls 

to  swing  naphtha  lamps  and  sleep  on  a  sack,  instead 
of  playing  Hamlet  as  he  had  expected.  So  Robert 
Christie  had  his  comfortable  bed  in  the  stable  loft 
and  reigned  in  his  stead. 

But  for  all  that  it  was  not  yet  decided  whether  the 
new  loon  was  to  stop  about  the  place. 

William  Mac  Andrew,  decent  man,  came  home 
from  the  town  over  in  the  afternoon,  and  took  a 
walk  round  the  fields  (he  called  it  "a  dawner")  to 
see  how  things  were  going.  He  looked  over  the 
croft  dyke  to  observe  how  the  new  loon  was  con- 
quering the  thistles  at  a  penny  an  hour — and  good 
money.  The  new  loon  was  reading  Measure  for 
Measure  at  a  penny  an  hour,  prone  on  his  face,  with 
his  ragged  straw  hat  over  his  eyes  and  his  feet  from 
the  knees  flailing  in  the  air  to  warn  off  the  flies. 

In  a  moment  the  scene  changed  to  "The  Tem- 
pest," and  that  without  warning.  William  Mac- 
Andrew  was  a  decent  man  and  quiet,  but  this  was 
too  much  for  him. 

"Aye,  my  man,"  he  said,  "an'  what's  this  o't  ye 
are  at?  Is  this  cuttin'  my  thistles,  ye  lazy  whalp? 
D'ye  ken  what  comes  o'  cheatry?  D'ye  ken  whaur 
cheats  gang  to?" 

"My  mither  says  they  gang  to  be  drovers  an' 
packmen,  an'  mak'  sillar  like  slate  stanes!"  said  the 
new  loon.    "But  if  ye  please,  Pitlarg,  I'm  no  a  cheat, 


Love  Among  the   Beech   Leaves     1 67 

though  I  was  readin'  my  buik  for  a  meenit.  See,  I 
hae  my  faither's  watch,  an'  I  was  readin'  juist  five 
meenits  by  it.  Then  I  wad  gang  screevin'  ower  the 
field  and  cut  doon  the  thistles  like  mawin'  meadow 
hay.  Yince  roond  and  come  back  for  five  meenits 
mair.  Ye  see,  sir,  I  mak'  up  for't,  an'  it's  juist  like 
takkin'  a  drink!" 

Pitlarg  smiled  grimly. 

"An'  what  micht  it  be  that  ye  are  readin',  my 
man?"  he  asked. 

"It's  Shakespeare,  sir,"  said  the  new  loon  with 
shamefacedness.  Pitlarg  was  an  elder,  and  there 
was  no  saying  what  he  might  think  of  Shakespeare. 

"Ay,"  said  Pitlarg,  "I  was  jaloosin'*  that  it  wad- 
na  be  your  Bible.  But  ye  micht  read  waur.  Let  us 
see. 

The  new  loon  handed  him  the  book. 

"It's  ower  sma'  prent  for  me!"  said  Pitlarg,  "but  I 
think  you  and  me  will  fettle  fine  yet.  Only  till  we 
'gree  aboot  a  price,  I  am  thinking  that  we'll  work  by 
the  piece  an'  no  by  the  hour.  I'll  pay  ye  a  penny  a 
rig  for  the  thistles,  and  then  ye  can  read  Shakespeare 
in  your  ain  time." 

It  was  a  bad,  backward  year,  and  Pitlarg  was  a 
little  anxious  about  his  rent;  but  he  was  a  hard- 
working and  honest  man,  and  trusted  in  Providence. 

*  Guessing. 


1 68  Love   Idylls 

For  many  years  he  had  been  harassed  by  the  game 
of  the  neighbouring  landlords  "eating  off"  him; 
especially  the  rabbits  and  hares  from  the  carefully 
preserved  coverts  on  two  sides  of  his  farm,  in  which 
a  brace  of  landlords  bred  game  by  the  hundred  to 
feed  upon  his  crofts. 

It  so  happened  that  Pitlarg' s  farm  lay  by  itself, 
apart  from  the  estate  of  his  own  laird,  and  was  sur- 
rounded by  the  lands  of  gentlemen  sportsmen, 
whose  grouse  fed  freely  on  his  stooks,  and  whose 
rabbits  and  hares  wasted  his  turnips. 

But  it  was  the  year  of  the  "ground  game,"  and 
there  was  a  better  prospect  for  the  future.  Only  the 
two  next  rent  days  were  hard  fences  for  the  farmers 
of  Pitfour  to  take. 

"The  Lord  will  provide  a  deliverer,"  said  Pitlarg, 
with  genuine  piety. 

And  He  did — the  new  loon. 

When  Rab  Christie  came  in  that  night  he  had 
done  a  good  day's  work  on  the  new  terms  of  work- 
ing by  the  piece.  He  was  satisfied  with  himself,  and 
some  sonorous  lines  from  Shakespeare  were  sound- 
ing in  his  head. 

He  took  his  porridge  quietly  at  the  kitchen  table 
and  looked  about  him.  The  mistress  was  bustling 
about,  clattering  dishes.  Pitlarg  was  lying  with  his 
In  ><  »ts  off  on  the  sofa  in  the  "room,"  reading  the  "wee 


Love  Among  the   Beech   Leaves     169 

paper" — lamb  sales  were  his  first  subjects,  then  the 
synopsis  of  the  Rabbits  and  Hares  Bill. 

Miss  Elizabeth  MacAndrew  sat  demurely  at  her 
uncle's  side  near  the  window.  She  was  working  a 
sampler.  The  new  loon  looked  at  her.  She  had 
shoes  on  now,  also  stockings,  and  her  long  legs  were 
crooked  up  under  her  chair  out  of  sight.  She  caught 
him  looking,  and  put  out  her  tongue  at  him.  Then 
she  pointed  out  the  marbles  under  the  clock-case  to 
him,  counting  upon  her  fingers — one,  two,  three, 
four,  and  her  thumb  for  his  own  stolen  "taw," 
which  was  a  fine  sphere  of  alabaster. 

But  the  new  loon  did  not  even  look  annoyed.  He 
rose  calmly  and  walked  into  the  sacred  "room," 
where  no  farm  loon  had  ever  been  before,  except  at 
worship.  Bess  watched  him  with  stupefaction. 
Mistress  MacAndrew  stopped  as  suddenly  as  if  a 
hen  had  flown  in  her  face,  and  even  Pitlarg  himself 
put  down  his  paper  and  his  jaw  dropped  with  won- 
der. 

Rab  Christie  calmly  lifted  the  glass  shade  off  the 
clock,  took  out  the  marbles,  counted  them  leisurely, 
and  put  them  in  his  pocket.  Then  he  walked  back  to 
the  kitchen  table,  and  set  about  finishing  his  por- 
ridge. It  was  some  time  before  the  three  in  the  room 
recovered  themselves.   The  mistress  came  first  to  her 


i  jo  Love  Idylls 


senses.  She  had  followed  the  audacious  loon  to  the 
room  door. 

"Hoo  daur  ye,"  she  said,  "to  meddle  wi'  my 
clock,  an'  to  come  ben  to  my  room  withoot  biddin'  ?" 

"They  were  my  bools,"  said  Rab  calmly,  taking 
bite  and  sup  time  about. 

Bess  thought  she  had  never  admired  any  one  so 
much — not  even  the  man  at  the  fair  that  rode  three 
horses  at  a  time,  whose  shining  example  had  drawn 
off  Rab's  predecessor. 

"Your  bools!"  said  Mistress  MacAndrew,  gasp- 
ing; "an'  hoo  cam'  your  bools  under  my  crystal 
clock  case,  that  hasna  been  lifted  or  dusted  for 
twenty  year?" 

"That,"  answered  the  new  loon  indifferently,  "I 
dinna  ken,  but  they  war  my  bools." 

"Losh  preserve  us !  that  fair  cowes  Co'en !"  said 
Mistress  MacAndrew,  holding  up  her  hands. 

But  Pitlarg  only  laughed,  and  took  up  his  paper. 
"It's  Shakespeare  that  does  it.  He's  gotten  it  on 
him,  guidwife!    Ye  canna  help  it!" 

"Eh — what?  what  has  he  gotten — whatna  a 
trouble  did  ye  say  the  laddie  had  on  him?  Is't  smit- 
table,*  think  ye.  He'll  no  bide  aboot  Pitlarg  gin  it 
be.    Let  me  see,  laddie." 

And  the  cautious  goodwife  of  Pitlarg,  who  feared 

♦Infectious. 


Love  Among  the   Beech   Leaves     171 

not  the  face  of  man,  but  stood  in  deadly  terror  of 
"onything  smittable,"  examined  Rab  Christie's  brow 
and  the  back  of  his  ears  for  spots,  and  his  hair  for 
possibilities. 

"Na,"  she  said,  "he's  clean  and  weel-keepit,  at  ony 
rate.  I  see  nae  sign  o'  trouble  aboot  the  boy.  What 
said  ye  he  had  gotten,  guidman?" 

"Hoot,  nocht  ava,  mistress;  I  juist  said  that  he 
had  gotten  a  Shakespeare,"  said  Pitlarg  over  his 
paper. 

"A  what,  William — I  wush  ye  wad  speak  plain 
Scots,  an'  nane  o'  yer  langnebbit  yins.  What's 
Shakespeare? — Is't  a  swallin'  or  a  'luppen  shin- 
nin'  ?'*  I've  heard  o'  folks  haein'  an  income  in  their 
knee,  an'  a  brither  o'  my  auntie's  had  a  white  swell- 
in',  but  never  in  a'  my  days  did  I  hear  o'  ony  body 
haein'  a  Shakespeare — guidelife,  no!" 

"Hoot  na,  woman:  d'ye  no  ken?"  said  Pitlarg — 
who  had  kept  perfectly  serious,  for  he  loved  to  hear 
the  wife  talk :  "Shakespeare's  juist  a  book." 

"A  book ! — guidman,  ye  are  no  richt  in  the  mind ! 
What  harm  could  a  book  do  him  to  gar  him  come 
clamperin'  in  howking  bools  oot  o'  my  clock  case? 
Guidman,  ye  are  gettin'  to  hae  less  an'  less  sense  in 
yer  auld  age." 

"Aweel,    aweel!"    said    Pitlarg    good-naturedly, 

♦Sprung  sinew. 


172  Love  Idylls 


"it's  no  lost  what  a  freend  gets.  Ye' re  gettin'  a'  the 
sense  that  is  aboot  Pitlarg,  and  to  them  that  hae  shall 
be  given,  ye  ken." 

"Lord  save  us,  guidman!  did  ye  ever  see  sic  a 
boy?"  said  the  mistress  of  Pitlarg  that  night,  when 
the  new  loon  had  gone  off  to  the  stable  loft,  and 
Elizabeth  MacAndrew  was  in  bed  but  not  asleep  in 
her  own  room ;  "d'ye  think  that  we'll  be  able  to  keep 
him?" 

The  goodman,  who  was  sitting  having  his  last 
smoke  before  bedding,  lifted  a  glowing  peat  from 
the  hearth,  and  fitted  the  end  of  it  into  his  pipe,  hold- 
ing that  grimy  cutty  sideways,  so  that  he  might  be 
able  to  survey  the  operation  with  a  wary  eye.  Not 
till  his  pipe  was  drawing  well  did  he  answer  his  wife. 
He  was  a  cautions  man,  Pitlarg.  The  operation 
when  thus  performed  gives  time  for  consideration. 
Several  promising  reputations  for  wisdom  have  been 
built  up  on  it. 

"He  may  do  no  that  ill,  gin  there's  somebody  to 
owerlook  his  wark." 

"Deed,  then,  guidman,  Pitlarg  is  the  very  bit* 

for  him.    Ye  were  a  graund  ower-looker  a'  the  days 

o'  ye.     There's  few  in  this  countryside  can  keep 

steeks  wi'  you  at  a  day's  gafferin' !" 

Which  was  Mrs.   MacAndrew's  way  of  saying 

*Place. 


Love  Among   the   Beech    Leaves     173 

that  her  husband  did  not  love  hard  work.  Perhaps 
that  might  be  the  reason  that  there  was  an  anxiety 
about  the  rent. 

William  MacAndrew  did  not  enter  into  the  sub- 
ject.   Instead  he  put  a  new  coal  in  his  pipe. 

"He's  a  guid  boy  to  his  mither,  an'  the  herd  says 
that  he  sees  him  at  his  prayers  nicht  an'  mornin'," 
he  said  at  last. 

Pitlarg  wanted  the  boy  to  stay,  so  that  he  touched 
his  wife's  preferences  on  their  weak  side,  as  he  well 
knew  how. 

Next  morning  when  the  goodwife  of  Pitlarg  came 
into  the  kitchen,  the  new  loon  came  in,  and  threw  a 
pair  of  fat  rabbits  down  on  a  chair. 

"Whar  gat  ye  thae?"  said  Mrs.  MacAndrew. 

"In  the  kail  yaird,"  said  Rab  Christie. 

"Deed,  aye,  they  hae  been  sair  on  the  plants,  the 
vermin ;  and  they'll  mak'  a  graund  denner ;  but  how 
did  ye  get  them  ?" 

"I  made  a  gin  o'  a  steeker,"  said  the  youth,  simply 
enough,  but  using  highly  technical  language. 

He  meant  that  he  had  constructed  a  snare  of  an 
old  bootlace,  and  that  he  had  so  fixed  it  with  a  little 
fall  beneath  that  the  rabbits  had  committed  felo  de 
se. 

"I  canna  bear  skinnin'  rabbits,"  said  Mistress 
MacAndrew.    "I  wonder  wha'll  do  it  for  me." 


174  Love  Idylls 


"Skin  the  rabbits — that  nocht  ava,"  returned  the 
loon,  to  whom  the  matter  was  as  simple  as  peeling 
a  potato.  In  ten  minutes  the  rabbits  were  clean  and 
ready  for  the  pot. 

When  Bess  reached  home  from  school,  next  day 
she  came  into  the  yard  swinging  her  green  bag  of 
books.  There  were  three  great  beeches  standing  in 
the  old  courtyard,  making  a  dream  of  rustling 
leaves,  and  sprinkling  a  pleasant  shade  over  the 
great  iron  bar  to  which  the  horses  were  yoked  when 
the  mill  was  to  be  set  agoing.  As  she  passed  under 
the  trees  something  fell  at  her  feet,  narrowly  miss- 
ing her  head.  Bess  MacAndrew  sprang  her  own 
length  aside,  with  a  shrill  cry.  There  was  some- 
thing moving  among  the  leaves,  and  that  which  had 
fallen  at  her  feet  was  a  book. 

From  overhead  came  the  voice  of  the  new  loon. 

"Lassie  fetch  me  up  that  book.  It'll  save  me  corn- 
in'  doom" 

"I  daresay,"  said  Bess.  "Come  doon  and  get  the 
book.    It'll  save  me  comin'  up." 

"Verra  weel,"  said  crafty  Rab,  "I  can  do  withoot 
it;  but  it's  juist  graund  up  here!" 

"What  are  ye  doin'  there?"  continued  Bess,  stand- 
ing on  tiptoe  and  peering  up.  She  could  see  noth- 
ing, however,  except  a  pair  of  legs  waving  in  the  air. 
It  was  certainly  very  mysterious  and  attractive. 


Love  Among  the   Beech   Leaves     175 

'  "I  can  see  CrifTel  an'  the  three  Cairnsmores,  an' 
the  dominie  at  the  schule,  an'  a'  the  boys  playin' 
'Steal  the  Bonnets' !    Oh,  it's  graund !" 

"I  wish  I  could  see!"  said  Bess  MacAndrew  wist- 
fully. 

"There's  made  a  bonny  seat  up  here  where  ye  can 
sit  and  swing,  and  the  wind  rocks  ye,  an'  the  leaves 
birl  aboot  ye  and  tell  ye  stories,  an'  ye  can  sit  an' 
read — splendid  stories — ghosts  and  murders  and 
fairies  an' " 

"I'm  comin'  up,"  said  Bess. 

"Wi,  than  !"  said  the  invisible  in  the  tree;  "fetch 
the  book  wi  ye!" 

Soon  Rab  and  Bess  were  seated  side  by  side  far 
up  in  the  great  beech  tree.  Rab  had  fixed  a  slate  in 
a  curious  but  perfectly  safe  position  between  two 
thick  branches ;  and,  with  her  back  to  the  main  trunk 
and  her  feet  on  a  bough,  Bess  MacAndrew  stated  it 
as  a  fact  that  she  would  not  call  the  Queen  her 
grandmother. 

The  loon  swung  beside  her  in  a  manner  appar- 
ently far  more  perilous,  but  so  accustomed  was  he  to 
arboreal  life  that  he  often  went  to  sleep  hooked  on 
to  three  branches  like  a  great  grey  homespun  squir- 
rel. Perhaps  it  was  heredity  that  did  it.  Or  more 
likely  adaptation  to  the  habits  of  Mistress  MacAn- 
drew. 


176  Love  Idylls 

"Now  read  me  about  the  murders  and  the 
ghosts!"  commanded  Bess. 

The  new  loon  had  never  heard  of  Mr.  Lamb's 
"Tales  from  Shakespeare,"  but  Bess  considered  that 
nothing  could  beat  Rab  Christie's.  Indeed,  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  illustrated  his  points  with  quotations 
and  dramatic  utterances  sometimes  threatened  his 
equilibrium.  For  instance,  on  the  occasion  when  as 
Lady  Macbeth  he  endeavoured  at  once  to  wash  his 
hands,  to  balance  himself  on  the  top  of  a  tree,  and  to 
keep  the  leaf  of  the  Globe  Shakespeare  from  flap- 
ping over  in  the  wind,  it  became  necessary  for  Bess 
to  catch  him  by  the  hair  and  bring  him  to  his  poise 
again  with  a  tug  of  great  dexterity.  Indeed,  after 
this  she  considered  it  her  duty  to  keep  a  hand  twisted 
permanently  in  the  crisp  curls  at  the  back  of  his 
head. 

Rab  did  not  mind  at  all,  except  when  he  wanted  to 
emphasise  a  striking  point  in  a  dramatic  way.  This 
somewhat  shortened  his  dramatic  tether.  Think  of 
Mr.  Irving  being  so  controlled !  But  Bess  would  not 
let  go,  however  interested  she  might  be.  She  looked 
upon  it  as  a  duty. 

William  MacAndrew,  on  his  evening  tour  of  in- 
spection, turned  into  the  yard  a  little  while  after 
this.    He  most  certainly  heard  voices  in  the  earth  or 


Love   Among  the   Beech   Leaves     177 

in  the  air,  but  he  had  not  the  least  idea  where  to 
look  for  Ariel. 

Now,  it  was  the  wide-awake  Miss  Elizabeth  who 
first  saw  her  uncle,  and  put  her  hand  over  the 
reader's  mouth,  causing  an  abrupt  hiatus  in  the 
drama  at  the  thrilling  announcement,  "Thrice  the 
brindled  cat  hath  mewed !" 

"Davert!"  said  William  MacAndrew,  "but  I 
could  hae  sworn  I  heard  that  boy." 

Two  pairs  of  eyes  watched  him  from  aloft.  The 
"hempie"  put  aside  the  branches  to  have  a  better 
view.  This  was  as  good  as  hide-and-seek  and  going 
to  church  all  in  one.  But  a  tell-tale  green  bag  lay 
on  the  path.  When  Elizabeth  started  to  climb  the 
great  beech  she  had  not  taken  her  schoolbag  with 
her.  Her  uncle  now  found  it,  and  took  it  in  his 
hand. 

"That  careless  lassie !"  he  said,  "she  never  thinks 
that  a'  her  books  cost  siller.    Let  us  see!" 

And  with  that  William  MacAndrew  sat  him  down 
on  the  iron  bar  of  the  mill  and  proceeded  to  open 
out  Bess's  schoolbag  of  green  frieze. 

Up  among  the  tree  branches  there  was  an  agita- 
tion. The  owner  shook  with  anger  and  indignation. 
"The  horrid  wretch — to  open  my  bag!"  she  said. 

Uncle  William  adjusted  his  glasses  and  opened 
the  first  book.     It  was  a  Bible. 


178  Love  Idylls 

"  'Steal  not  this  book  for  fear  of  shame.'  Dear 
me!  that's  what  I  wrote  on  my  ain,  forty  year 
syne!"  said  the  searcher,  not  ill  pleased. 

He  opened  another.  Various  hieroglyphics  were 
drawn  over  it — ladies  of  the  hourglass-and-parasol 
persuasion,  houses  with  curly  smoke  proceeding 
from  all  the  chimneys,  and  fronted  with  gravel 
walks  of  alarming  precision. 

All  was  as  it  had  been  forty  years  ago.  Children 
are  the  true  Conservatives : 

"Elizabeth  MacAndrew  is  my  name, 
Scotland  is  my  nashun, 
Pitlarg  is  my  dwelling-place — 
A  pleesant  habitation." 

Uncle  William  slapped  his  leg  as  he  sat  on  the  mill 
bar.  He  thought  this  very  excellent  poetry  indeed. 
And  truly  the  sentiment  was  unexceptionable.  It 
beat  Shakespeare  for  real  contentment. 

But  the  author  was  exceedingly  indignant, 
though,  owing  to  temporary  circumstances,  she  was 
unable  to  state  her  grievances.  The  trees  rustled  and 
shook  irregularly  above  Uncle  William's  head,  and 
a  leaf  or  two  fell ;  but  the  goodman  of  Pitlarg  was 
content  to  think  that  the  wind  must  be  rising,  and  so 
read  stolidly  on. 

He  took  out  next  a  grimy  twist  of  greyish-brown 
paper.    The  trees  shook  more  than  ever. 


Love  Among   the   Beech   Leaves     179 

Up  in  the  top  branches,  Bess  took  the  new  loon 
by  the  collar  and  said,  "Do  something  to  make  him 
stop!    Oh,  the  wretch,  the  horrid  wretch !" 

The  new  loon  at  that  moment  could  not  think  of 
anything. 

Uncle  William  looked  within  the  twist  of  paper. 
Six  bull's-eyes  were  there,  aromatic  and  exceed- 
ingly adherent.    A  paper  lay  on  the  top  of  them. 

Uncle  William  read  aloud,  with  great  apparent 
enjoyment : 

'"Lisbeth  MacAndrew,  I  luv  you — 
The  rose  is  red,  the  vilet's  blew, 
Sugar's  sweet, 

And  so  are  you ! 
Wulliam  Baittie,  wrote  with  a  new  pen." 

Up  in  the  tree,  Miss  Elizabeth  MacAndrew  was 
blushing  the  red  of  the  rose  aforesaid. 

"It's  that  great  softie  Wull  Beattie,"  she  whis- 
pered. "He's  aye  slippin'  things  in  my  bag  when  I 
am  no  lookin'." 

But  the  new  loon  sat  a  little  farther  off,  in  spite  of 
the  explanation. 

"I  didna  ken  it  was  there,"  said  Elizabeth,  whose 
shame  was  great  and  real. 

But  something  else  came  to  light — a  brass  curtain 
ring,  that  Uncle  William  put  upon  his  little  finger. 


8o  Love  Idylls 


Leaning  back,  he  chuckled  to  himself.  He  foresaw 
that  in  a  year  or  two  Pitlarg  would  be  a  lively  place. 

Up  in  the  tree  Elizabeth  dug  her  hands  into  the 
side  of  her  companion.  "Do  something,  can  ye  no, 
or  I'll  throw  doon  your  Shakespeare  at  him !" 

Then  the  new  loon  began  to  call  softly  with  his 
hand  to  his  mouth. 

Sitting  beneath,  on  the  iron  bar  of  the  mill, 
William  MacAndrew,  who  was  a  little  deaf,  cocked 
his  ear  to  listen.  Surely  he  heard  the  bleating  of 
sheep  in  distress — the  deeper  cry  of  the  ewes,  the 
shrill,  sweet  treble  of  the  lambs.  It  was  not  for 
nothing  that  Rab  Christie  had  been  a  gamekeeper's 
son.  There  was  no  sound  in  nature  that  with  his 
hands  and  mouth  he  could  not  imitate,  and  that  well 
enough  to  deceive  the  wild  things  themselves.  It 
was,  therefore,  easy  for  him  to  take  in  an  old  farmer 
rather  hard  of  hearing. 

The  impression  which  Pitlarg  got  as  he  sat  and 
listened  was  that  the  lambs  recently  weaned  had 
again  got  in  among  their  mothers.  So  he  set  down 
the  bag  where  he  had  found  it ;  and,  taking  his  staff 
and  whistling  on  his  dogs,  he  set  off  briskly  up  the 
hill  road.  Before  he  was  round  the  corner,  Eliza- 
beth was  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  and  had  reclaimed 
her  violated  treasure. 


Love  Among  the   Beech   Leaves     1 8 1 

She  shook  her  clenched  fist  at  her  uncle's  back  as 
he  hastened  up  the  road. 

"Horrid,  mean  old  wretch!"  she  cried. 

"Eh!  what  was  that  ye  said?"  queried  her  aunt, 
at  the  door.  "Ye  surely  warna'  speaking  that  gate 
to  your  uncle,  Elizabeth?" 

"It  was  that  new  loon,"  said  the  ungrateful  young 
lady. 

"Oh!"  said  the  mistress  of  Pitlarg,  satisfied. 

Rab  Christie  had  a  fine  plan  for  catching  the 
hares  and  rabbits  which  infested  Pitlarg  from  the 
neighbouring  preserves.  He  first  invested  a  con- 
siderable sum  in  the  common  material  for  wires  and 
snares.  Then  he  interested  his  master  in  the  ven- 
ture. Finally,  he  excited  Miss  MacAndrew  to  such 
an  extent  that  she  petitioned  that  she  might  be  per- 
mitted to  assist  him.    Rab  was  nothing  loath. 

So  the  next  night,  after  her  aunt  had  looked  in 
upon  her  sleeping-room  and  seen  her  wrapped  safely 
up  in  the  bed-clothes  for  the  night,  who  but  the 
"hempie"  stole  out  fully  dressed,  raised  the  sill  of 
her  bedroom  window,  and  met  Rab  at  the  corner  of 
the  byre?  There  was  a  sharp  chill  in  the  air,  and 
Elizabeth  shuddered.  The  loon  of  Pitlarg  observed 
this,  and  threw  his  coat  about  the  girl's  neck,  tying 
it  about  her  throat  by  the  arms. 


i  82  Love   Idylls 

"Hae,  carry  that!"  he  said,  handing  her  a  rabbit 
net.  "Ye'll  hae  mair  to  carry  or  ye  come  hame." 
So  they  went  out  into  the  grey  twilight  of  the  night. 

Soon  they  were  at  the  march  dyke.  At  every  hare 
run  and  rabbit  track  Rab  placed  a  snare,  as  they  went 
round  the  irregular  marches  of  Pitlarg.  In  many 
cases,  so  constant  was  the  traffic,  that  Rab  and  Bess 
could  hear  them  being  filled  up  only  a  few  hundred 
yards  from  where  they  were  working.  Rab  made 
Bess  put  on  a  pair  of  mittens,  so  that  her  hands 
would  not  touch  the  snares.  It  took  them  two  hours 
to  go  round. 

Then  Rab  saw  Elizabeth  back  to  her  window.  She 
was  safe  within  in  a  moment.  But  he  never  thought 
of  thanking  her  for  coming.  The  shoe  was  alto- 
gether on  the  other  foot,  and  Elizabeth  felt  it  to 
be  so. 

"May  I  come  an'  help  ye  to  bring  them  hame?" 
she  said  meekly. 

"Weel,  if  ye  are  wakkin'  at  five,  ye  may,"  said  the 
youth  coolly,  as  he  walked  away. 

Elizabeth  was  again  at  the  corner  of  the  barn  at 
five  by  the  clock,  and  in  an  hour  Rab  and  she  had 
every  snare  lifted  and  nearly  a  hundred  rabbits  and 
hares  lying  at  the  barn  door.  Then  Bess  slipped 
quickly  to  her  room,  watching  her  aunt  as  she  went 
into  the  byre  to  milk  the  cows. 


Love  Among  the   Beech   Leaves     183 

"An'  what  wull  we  do  wi'  a'  thae?"  said  the 
farmer  of  Pitlarg,  in  amazement.  He  had  never 
seen  so  much  fur  together  in  all  his  life. 

The  new  loon  was  practical. 

"Lend  me  the  powny  an'  the  cairt,"  he  said,  "an' 
I'll  tak'  them  to  Cairnochan,  the  game-dealer  in  the 
toon." 

He  had  been  at  that  job  before. 

But  before  he  went  he  made  a  practical  proposal 
to  the  master  of  Pitlarg  for  a  penny  for  each  rabbit 
that  he  should  catch  and  get  to  market. 

So  Rab  drove  off  to  the  town  with  his  loaded  cart 
of  ground  game.  At  the  gate  he  passed  the  game- 
keeper of  the  Dullarg  estate,  who  looked  curiously  at 
the  heap  under  the  sacking.  But  Rab  passed  with- 
out giving  him  any  information.  At  the  town  he 
made  a  most  favourable  arrangement  with  the  game- 
dealer  to  take  all  the  rabbits  and  hares  from  Pitlarg. 
Cairnochan  wanted  them  to  send  to  Newcastle. 
They  were  not  poached,  but  sold  altogether  "on  the 
square,"  so  Rab  got  the  best  price  for  them.  They 
were  to  be  driven  down  every  morning,  that  they 
might  be  entirely  fresh.  They  were  to  be  exclusively 
in  the  hands  of  Cairnochan,  and  nothing  was  to  be 
said  to  the  surrounding  gamekeepers.  The  loon  re- 
turned triumphant. 

So  night  after  night  it  went  on,  and  day  after 


i  84  Love   Idylls 

day  the  light  cart  drove  to  the  town.  In  three 
months  the  rent  was  paid  and  Rab  was  a  capitalist. 
He  offered  the  half  of  the  pennies  to  his  trained 
assistant,  but  Bess  rejected  the  offer  with  scorn.  To 
take  money  for  her  help  would  be  to  spoil  all  the  ro- 
mance of  the  ploy.* 

But  the  neighbouring  gamekeepers  waxed  sus- 
picious. They  lay  in  watch,  and  finally  found  Rab 
setting  his  traps  one  night.  There  was  a  storm  of 
language,  but  the  action  was  perfectly  legal ;  and,  as 
Rab  put  it,  it  would  be  years  before  Pitlarg  could 
trap  from  the  Dullarg  and  Craigley  a  tenth  of  what 
the  game  of  the  Dullarg  had  eaten  off  Pitlarg. 

In  a  day  or  two  there  was  a  wire  netting  round 
the  better  part  of  the  Pitlarg  march  dyke,  and  the 
gamekeepers  rubbed  their  hands.  They  had  done 
that  atrocious  new  loon  at  Pitlarg  to  rights  this  time. 
But  they  did  not  know  that,  with  a  broomstick  for  a 
lever,  that  boy  and  his  capable  trained  assistant  had 
been  at  the  trouble  to  raise  the  netting  at  all  the  runs, 
and  engineer  passages  through  the  blocking  furze. 
And  on  the  morrow  the  pile  at  the  barn  door  was  not 
much  less  than  usual.  When  Rab  is  away,  Bess  can 
do  it  herself,  for  she  is  not  a  bit  afraid  of  the  brown 
moor,  the  colourless  night,  the  dewy  fields,  or  the 
cries  of  the  wild  things  on  the  hills  before  the  dawn- 
ing comes. 

♦Adventure. 


Love  Among   the   Beech   Leaves     185 

Pitlarg  thought,  and  with  good  reason,  that  there 
never  was  such  a  boy,  and  at  last  the  goodwife 
agreed  with  him.  Rab  had  been  promoted  to  taking 
his  meals  in  the  room  along  with  his  master  and  mis- 
tress, which  never  boy  was  allowed  to  do  before. 

By  the  following  autumn  Rab  had  so  much  money 
between  his  wages  and  his  percentage  (much  in- 
creased now  by  the  grateful  Pitlarg)  that  he  thought 
of  taking  a  year  at  college,  for  the  loon  who  reads 
Shakespeare  has  ambitions,  and  the  world  does  not 
end  for  him  with  rabbit-catching. 

So  he  went  away,  and  Bess  MacAndrew  accom- 
panied him  to  the  gate  upon  his  departure.  There 
was  a  sense  of  emptiness  somewhere,  and  her  heart 
was  welling  rebelliously  within  her  at  the  desertion. 

"You  are  glad  to  go  away,"  she  said,  scraping  the 
ground  with  her  foot,  as  they  stood  before  parting  at 
the  black  gate  of  the  loaning. 

"Yes,"  said  Rab,  his  heart  full  of  his  future,  and 
with  the  sublime  selfishness  of  youth  and  excellent 
intentions ;  "yes,  ye  see  I  want  to  get  on,  Bess." 

""You  are  a  nasty,  horrid,  deceitful  thing,  and  I'll 
never  speak  to  you  again  as  long  as  I  live!"  said 
Elizabeth;  and,  lest  she  should  ignominiously  burst 
into  tears  she  turned  and  fled,  leaving  Rab  standing 
dumbfoundered  at  the  gate,  looking  after  her. 

She  ran  straight  into  the  byre,  and  putting  her 


i  86  Love   Idylls 

arms  round  the  neck  of  her  favourite  red-and-white 
cow,  she  sobbed  her  girl's  heart  out,  sore  and  hurt 
with  the  cruel  desertion  of  her  comrade  and  com- 
panion. 

"Love!"  she  said  to  herself — "not  such  a  thing. 
That  is  all  nonsense;  but  it  is  a  horrid  shame  of  him, 
all  the  same." 

The  loon  meant  to  come  back  next  year,  but  the 
year  lengthened  into  two,  and  Rab  had  taken  a  col- 
lege bursary  and  been  through  three  sessions  at  col- 
lege before  he  came  back  to  Pitlarg.  He  was  now 
twenty,  and  Elizabeth  MacAndrew  was  nearly  eigh- 
teen. But  nothing  was  changed  when  he  came  up 
the  loaning.  He  was  to  bide  with  the  MacAndrews 
all  the  summer,  and  help  with  the  hay  and  harvest ; 
but  he  had  arranged  to  have  time  also  for  his  study- 
ing. 

The  gate  was  hanging  on  one  hinge  when  he  tried 
to  open  it.  He  resolved  that  he  would  come  out  and 
mend  it  at  once.  The  stable  was  grimy  and  dull :  he 
would  begin  to  give  the  whole  place  a  coat  of  white- 
wash to-morrow.  But  the  kitchen  doorstep  was 
scoured,  and  the  windows  winked  like  jewels.  The 
neglect  was  only  apparent  in  what  had  been  his  own 
department.  He  would  soon  set  that  to  rights.  The 
new  loon  had  come  to  his  own  again.  But  here  was 
some  one  approaching. 


Love   Among  the   Beech   Leaves     187 

A  tall  and  sedate  young  lady  moved  towards  him, 
book  in  hand.  She  was  dressed  in  black.  Rab 
Christie  took  off  his  hat,  for  amongst  other  things  he 
had  learnt  manners  in  Edinburgh  town.  The  quietly 
graceful  young  woman  bowed. 

"A  visitor!"  thought  the  new  loon. 

He  came  nearer. 

"Mercy  me,  Bess — I  mean  Miss  MacAndrew!" 
stammered  Rab. 

The  young  lady  extended  her  hand  calmly. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Christie?"  she  said,  with 
great  self-possession. 

The  loon,  now  come  to  his  regality,  only  to  find  all 
things  new,  walked  through  the  yard  by  her  side, 
more  dazed  than  when,  in  the  slumberous  summer 
afternoon  of  long  ago,  Mistress  MacAndrew  had 
laced  his  jacket  for  playing  "bools"  in  working 
hours,  and  Bess  had  run  off  with  the  stakes  to  put 
them  in  the  clock-case.  There,  too,  was  the  window 
out  of  which  she  had  got  to  help  him  with  the  rab- 
bits. It  was  all  a  dream.  This  tall  young  lady  never 
swung  her  feet  over  a  tree  branch,  sitting  on  a  slate 
stool. 

"It  is  a  fine  day,"  she  said  at  last,  keeping  her 
eyes  demurely  on  the  ground. 

"It  is  that!"  said  the  new  loon,  becoming  con- 


1 88  Love  Idylls 


scious  of  the  size  of  his  feet  and  the  fact  that  his 
hands  hung  by  his  side  like  hams. 

They  passed  under  the  tree  of  climbing.  Its  leaves 
rustled  invitingly.  Rab  sighed  as  he  looked  up. 
Then  just  for  a  moment  he  caught  the  glint  of  an- 
cient mischief  in  the  eye  of  Bess  MacAndrew. 

"Will  ye  try  it,  Bess?"  he  said  audaciously. 

For  one  quivering  moment  it  seemed  as  if  Bess 
would,  but  her  eye  drooped  again  upon  the  ground. 

"You  will  want  to  see  my  aunt,"  she  said  meekly. 

"Aye!"  said  Mr.  Robert  Christie,  who  had,  of 
course,  come  so  far  solely  for  that  purpose. 

They  were  passing  the  corner  of  the  hedge  in 
which  the  hawthorn  tree,  carefully  trained,  stooped 
across  and  made  about  them  a  fragrant  dusk  of 
shade.  They  were  going  calmly  underneath,  when 
the  new  loon  paused  to  pick  a  spray.  No,  he  did  not 
stop — he  only  ceased  advancing.  With  a  little  sigh 
Elizabeth  MacAndrew  ceased  also,  and  reached  up 
to  pick  another  spray. 

"Let  me  do  it,"  said  the  loon. 

So  Bess  let  him;  but  the  audacious  loon,  wicked 
thoughts  working  in  him,  suddenly,  and  of  course 
unexpectedly,  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

For  a  long  moment  she  stood,  four  great  roaring 
oceans  swirling  in  her  ears.    Then  the  old  Bess  as- 


Love  Among  the   Beech   Leaves     189 

serted  herself.  She  gave  the  loon  as  sound  a  cuff  on 
the  ear  as  she  would  have  done  before  he  went  away. 

"Now  let  us  go  in  and  see  my  aunt,"  she  said,  with 
great  content. 

So  they  went  in  together,  but  took  hands  as  they 
went. 

And  the  rest  is  an  old  story. 


THE   PURPLE   MOUNTAINS 

Roger  Marchbanks  dwelt  on  a  hilltop.  She 
who  had  once  been  Alice  his  daughter  abode  with 
her  three  children  in  the  valley  at  the  hill's  foot. 
And  there  was  bitter  anger  between  them  twain. 
For  once  Alice  Marchbanks  had  been  as  the  apple 
of  her  father's  eye,  and  as  he  went  about  his  scanty 
properties  he  had  drawn  his  coat  of  grey  homespun 
more  closely  about  him  in  order  that  his  Alice 
might  be  arrayed  in  garments  of  the  newest  and  the 
best,  cut  after  a  fashion  all  undreamed  of  in  the 
valley  of  the  Dee. 

"And  at  the  first  call  of  the  stranger  she  left  me, 
at  the  first  whistle  of  his  pipe,  left  me  for  the  son  of 
the  man  that  robbed  me  of  my  fair  acres,  that  took 
from  me  the  dainty  Long  Croft,  the  Sandyknowes, 
bonny  with  the  brairded  corn  whenever  the  spring 
nights  lengthen,  sweet  Nunholm,  and  the  Lady- 
land,  where  the  white-thorn  bushes  are  dotted  like 
posies  about  the  braes." 

As  he  spoke  thus  to  himself,  Roger  Marchbanks 


192  Love   Idylls 


thrust  with  his  staff's  point  more  deeply  into  the 
earth,  so  that  the  shod  of  it  delved  a  series  of  little 
wells,  into  which  the  spring  showers  fell  and  filled 
them  full. 

Roger  Marchbanks  had  been  all  his  life  a  stern, 
unworldly  man  of  the  simplest  nature.  As  a  mid- 
dle-aged man,  he  had  spent  all  his  affection  upon 
the  young  wife  who  had  not  long  outlived  the  birth 
of  her  first  child.  And  more  recently,  as  he  grew 
old,  he  had  watched  his  daughter  shoot  up  like  a 
tender  plant  by  his  muirland  fireside. 

He  was  a  Cameronian,  and  high  in  the  esteem 
of  the  faithful — a  man  wholly  without  guile,  and 
slow  to  suspect  it  in  others — even  in  members  of 
the  Establishment.  Still  less  was  it  likely  that 
Roger  Marchbanks  would  watch  suspiciously  a 
fellow-elder  of  the  elect  folk.  It  was  in  this  way 
that  sleek  Doctor  James  Tod,  the  orthodox  physi- 
cian of  Cairn  Edward,  desiring  to  set  up  a  carriage 
and  build  a  house  (as  well  as  to  obtain  money  for 
other  purposes  less  patent  to  the  public),  urged  it 
upon  Roger  Marchbanks,  of  Lochryan,  to  set  his 
name  to  certain  documents  written  upon  stamped 
paper.  It  was  a  form — nothing  more,  he  told 
him.  And  between  the  diets  of  worship  one  Mon- 
day, after  communion,  Roger  wrote  his  name 
twice,  and  immediately  forgot  all  about  it. 


The   Purple   Mountains  193 

"Honour  the  physician,"  he  said,  as  he  laid  down 
the  pen  gravely,  "with  that  honour  which  is  due 
unto  him  because  of  necessity :  for  the  Lord  hath 
created  him." 

"Amen !"  said  James  Tod  sanctimoniously,  for 
he  thought  that  the  words  came  from  Holy  Writ — 
as  indeed  they  did,  though  not  from  the  portion  of 
that  Writ  included  between  the  boards  of  his 
Bible. 

But  if  the  Lord  had  created  James  Tod,  the  devil 
had  certainly  taken  him  in  hand  shortly  after,  and 
never  again  removed  his  power  far  from  him. 

For,  suddenly,  with  the  flaming  exposure  of  an 
evil  life,  double  as  a  serpent's  tongue,  James  Tod 
disappeared,  and  with  him  most  of  Roger  March- 
banks'  fair  patrimony.  The  old  "bonnet  laird"  saw 
the  fields  pass  from  him,  concerning  which  his 
father  had  spoken  words  solemn  as  a  National 
League  to  him.  "Six  hundred  years  have  they 
been  in  the  hold  of  the  Marchbanks.  Keep  them 
for  your  children  like  a  covenant  of  the  Lord." 

So  into  the  breast  of  the  old  man  there  entered 
such  a  hatred  of  James  Tod  and  all  his  works  that 
his  black  prayer  for  the  destruction  of  the  accursed 
stock  came  between  him  and  his  God,  and  his  ven- 
geance breathed  from  him  like  a  psalm  of  David. 

When  the  destruction  delayed,  he  felt  justified  in 


194  Love   Idylls 

asking,  Could  there  be  a  God  of  doing  justly  and 
a  God  of  withholding  punishment?  If  God  were 
the  jealous  God,  concerning  whom  Roger  March- 
banks  had  been  taught,  would  He  not  ere  now  have 
cut  down  the  wicked,  as  Roger  had  himself  up- 
rooted the  stubborn  whin  roots  out  of  the  fair  acres 
of  the  Ladyland? 

It  was  this  time  that  Roger  Marchbanks'  only 
daughter,  Alice,  chose  for  running  away  to  marry 
Allan,  the  son  of  Doctor  James  Tod.  True,  they 
had  loved  one  another  ever  since  they  had  been 
young  lad  and  lass,  linking  together  lightfoot  on 
the  sunny  leas  which  the  ill-doing  of  the  father  of 
one  of  them  had  reft  from  the  father  of  the  other. 
Allan  Tod  had,  to  the  knowledge  of  all,  had  no  part 
in  his  father's  iniquity.  But  Roger  Marchbanks, 
as  might  have  been  foretold  of  him,  cursed  the 
young  pair  with  the  Cameronian  equivalent  for 
bell,  book,  and  candle. 

But  Allan  and  Ailie  had  expected  nothing  better. 
Allan  Tod  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  set  up  as  a 
solicitor  in  a  small  town,  where  already  there  were 
lawyers  to  spare.  And  for  seven  years  he  kept  his 
head  well  up  in  the  unequal  struggle.  For  his 
father's  ill-name  and  his  wife's  ill-health  both 
weighed  upon  him. 


The   Purple   Mountains  195 

"He  comes  o'  a  bad  stock,"  said  the  curious  folk 
of  the  Ferrytown. 

Nothwithstanding  all  this,  when  Allan  Tod  died 
in  the  eighth  year  of  their  marriage,  he  left  Ailie 
Marchbanks  and  her  three  bairns  none  so  ill  pro- 
vided for.  There  was  an  insurance  on  his  own 
life,  which  oftentimes  it  had  gone  hard  with  him  to 
pay.  There  was  the  house  that  he  had  built  in  the 
Ferrytown,  and  (a  last  remnant  of  his  father's 
holdings)  there  was  the  little  cottage  of  Craiglee, 
on  the  verge  of  the  property  of  Lochryan,  under- 
neath the  hill,  at  the  top  of  which  Roger  March- 
banks  dwelt. 

It  was  to  the  latter  that  Ailie  retired.  She  could 
easily  dispose  of  the  red  free-stone  house  near  the 
railway  station  of  the  Ferrytown,  for  luckily  houses 
of  that  size  happened  to  be  scarce  that  year.  So  to 
Craiglee,  the  whitewashed  cottage  under  the 
shaggy  brow  of  Cairn  Ryan,  Ailie  went  and  nestled 
down  with  her  brood  of  three. 

The  first  night,  after  Miriam  and  Gregor  and 
little  Rob  had  all  been  long  laid  down  to  sleep,  the 
young  widow  went  herself  quietly  to  a  window  that 
gave  upon  the  hill.  It  was  at  the  corner  of  the 
children's  sleeping-room,  and  she  listened  intently 
for  their  breathings,  as  only  a  mother  does,  before 
she  entered.     But  as  she  came  half-way  across  the 


196  Love   Idylls 

floor,  she  saw  something  at  the  window  which 
made  her  heart  spring  within  her.  A  small,  white- 
robed  figure  was  kneeling  on  a  chair.  Ailie 
Marchbanks  laid  her  hand  on  her  side,  and 
stopped  with  a  short,  gasping  indraw  of  her  breath. 

"Mother !"  said  the  figure  at  the  window.  And 
in  a  moment  Ailie  the  widow  was  herself  again. 
She  had  thought  for  a  moment  that  the  white- 
sheeted  figure  might  portend  some  ill  to  her  treas- 
ures. 

"Miriam,"  she  said,  "what  are  you  doing  there? 
Why  are  you  not  in  bed?" 

"Mother,"  said  the  little  lass,  "there  is  a  star  up 
there;  I  have  been  watching  it.  It  burns  so 
steadily,  brighter  than  all  the  rest.  See,  mother, 
just  by  the  edge  of  the  wood." 

Ailie,  the  widow  of  Allan  Tod,  looked  forth. 
And  lo,  in  a  moment  she  became  again  the  daugh- 
ter of  Roger  Marchbanks  the  Cameronian.  For 
that  was  the  light  in  her  father's  sitting-room 
window.  And  even  as  she  looked,  the  shining 
light  went  down  to  a  pin-point.  It  was  her  father 
"taking  the  book"  up  at  Lochryan.  When  he  had 
done  with  the  reading  of  Scripture,  and  ere  he 
kneeled  to  begin  the  prayer  of  intercession,  very 
reverently  it  was  his  custom  to  turn  the  lamp  low. 
Those  who  knew  not  the  spirit  of  the  man  and  of 


The   Purple   Mountains  197 

the  people  might  have  supposed  that  the  thing  was 
clone  from  motives  of  economy.  But  the  wiser 
knew  that  it  was  a  part  of  the  Cameronian  worship, 
and  betokened  the  chastened  light  which  shone 
upon  the  spirit,  and  the  shutting  out  of  earthly 
things  ere  the  soul  of  man  ventured  into  the  im- 
mediate Presence. 

So  even  as  Ailie  looked,  the  light  went  down. 
And  she  read  the  meaning  of  it  as  well  as  if  she  had 
been  up  there.  Her  father's  silver-rimmed  spec- 
tacles were  lying  at  that  moment  upon  the  closed 
Bible.  He  was  kneeling  at  his  great  oaken  chair 
in  prayer.  Yet  she  felt  that  her  father  could  pray 
no  real  prayer  that  night,  for  the  forgiveness  of 
others'  trespasses  for  Christ's  sake  had  no  part  in  it. 

"It  is  a  bonny  star!"  said  little  Miriam  Tod;  "I 
wish  it  would  shine  brightly  again." 

And  even  as  she  spoke  Roger  Marchbanks  rose 
from  his  praying  unsatisfied,  and  his  lamp  went  up 
again. 

Down  in  the  children's  room  at  Craiglee  a  little 
white-clad  figure  danced  and  clapped  hands. 

"The  star  is  shining  again,"  she  cried.  And  her 
mother  prayed  long  and  quietly  by  her  side. 
Meantime,  up  in  the  house  on  the  hill,  Roger 
Marchbanks  thought  a  long  time  on  his  daughter 
ere  he  took  his  lonely  candle  and  paced  sternly 


198  Love  Idylls 


along  the  echoing  passages  to  his  room.  But  yet 
a  while  God  hardened  his  heart  until  it  should  be 
the  time  of  the  latter  rain. 

The  next  day  Ailie  was  walking  along  the  wood- 
land paths  near  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  for  a  while 
she  stood  wistfully  by  the  open  gate  through  which 
the  road  led  to  the  house  of  Lochryan.  It  was  an 
old  gate,  once  painted  blue,  and  she  knew  exactly 
the  way  it  had  of  lurching  to  the  side  when  you 
swung  too  far  back  on  it.  Gregor  and  little  Bob 
ran  here  and  there  by  her  side,  toddling  and  pulling 
flowers.  But  light-foot  Miriam  scoured  the  woods 
in  search  of  rarer  blossoms  and  wilder  adventures. 

As  Ailie  Marchbanks  stood  regarding,  her  father 
came  striding  solemnly  up  a  by-path  to  the  blue 
gate,  and  without  a  word  or  a  look  he  shut  it  in  her 
face.  Then  he  turned  away  towards  the  house  of 
Lochryan,  and  not  a  quiver  of  his  eyelids  betrayed 
that  he  had  seen  his  only  child. 

But  ere  he  had  gone  a  dozen  yards  he  met  little 
Miriam  coming  flashing  like  a  winged  fairy  along 
the  sunlit  spaces. 

"See,  mother,"  she  was  crying,  "I  have  found  the 
beautiful  flower  that  you  love.  At  sight  of  the  tall, 
stern,  grey-headed  man  with  the  blue  coat  and  the 
broad  buttons  upon  it  she  stopped  short.  Also 
she  saw  in  a  moment  that  the  gate  was  shut.     But 


The   Purple   Mountains  199 

it  was  not  Miriam's  way  to  be  afraid  of  anything 
that  lived.  "Open  the  gate  for  Miriam,  kind  man- 
nie,"  she  said  imperiously,  "and  I  was  give  you 
flowers — nice,  nice  flowers." 

Roger  Marchbanks  dropped  the  sternness  of  his 
glance  upon  her.  It  might  as  well  have  been  warm 
sunshine.  He  frowned  a  little  at  her  familiar 
words.     He  might  just  as  well  have  smiled. 

Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  why  he  turned 
abruptly,  and  with  measured  footsteps  paced  back 
again  to  the  gate,  opened  it  and  stood  aside  like  a 
courteous  gentleman  to  let  the  little  maid  pass. 

As  she  went  out  she  thrust  a  handful  of  flowers 
into  his  hand. 

"Thank  you,  kind  mannie,"  she  said;  "here  are 
the  nice  flowers  I  promised  you." 

Roger  Marchbanks  resumed  his  sedate  walk 
towards  his  lonely  house  of  Lochryan.  The  flow- 
ers were  still  in  his  hand  when  he  arrived  at  the 
turn  of  the  avenue  where  his  daughter  Ailie  used 
in  old  days  to  come  running  to  meet  him.  He 
looked  at  the  blossoms  between  his  fingers. 

"Forget-me-not !"  he  said  bitterly. 

And  with  that  he  took  little  Miriam's  flowers 
and  cast  them  from  him  as  far  as  he  could  into  the 
wood. 

The  young  widow  wept  silently  as   she  went 


2oo  Love   Idylls 


homeward.  But  Miriam  danced  like  a  snowflake 
every  way  about  the  copses,  and  ran  races  with 
Gregor,  shrieking  with  laughter,  till  the  blackbirds 
in  the  hedges  shrilly  scolded  at  the  unseemly  riot. 

That  night,  as  Miriam  was  saying  her  prayers  in 
the  window,  and  her  mother  was  putting  Gregor  to 
bed,  the  child  stopped  in  the  midst  of  her  petitions. 

"O  mother,"  she  cried,  with  wonder  in  her  voice, 
"come  and  see;  the  star  up  yonder  has  broken  loose 
and  lost  its  way." 

"Nonsense,  child!  Say  your  prayers  and  get 
into  bed  out  of  the  cold,"  said  her  mother.  But 
all  the  same  she  went  to  the  window,  and  saw  that 
there  was  a  light  flickering  hither  and  thither  along 
the  hillside. 

Up  aloft,  under  the  scattered  leaves  at  the  home- 
ward end  of  the  avenue  of  Lochryan,  an  old  man 
was  wandering  about  with  a  lantern,  holding  the 
light  near  the  ground.     It  was  Roger  Marchbanks. 

"Hae  ye  lost  your  pocket-book?"  said  his  grieve 
to  him,  after  watching  him  for  a  little,  "an'  can  I 
help  ye  to  look  for  it?" 

"Go  to  your  bed  and  be  ready  to  rise  betimes  to- 
morrow morning.  That  will  fit  you  better!"  said 
his  master,  shortly.  For  the  grieve  was  no  early 
riser. 

It    was    quite  half-an-hour   after    before    Roger 


The   Purple   Mountains  201 

Marchbanks  found  what  he  had  been  seeking — a 
handful  of  scattered  Forget-me-nots  thrown  over 
the  avenue  hedge  and  scattered  athwart  the  dewy 
grass.  He  carried  them  tenderly  home  and  placed 
them,  all  wet  as  they  were,  within  the  covers  of  the 
familv  Bible. 

From  that  day,  though  Roger  Marchbanks 
never  spoke  to  his  daughter  nor  she  to  him,  little 
Miriam  was  often  to  be  seen  with  her  hand  in  her 
grandfather's,  tripping  and  dancing  by  his  side,  her 
tongue  running  all  the  time  like  a  mill-hopper,  and 
her  clear  laughter  plashing  like  water  over  a  weir. 

But  there  came  a  day — a  day  that  shall  not  soon 
be  forgotten  on  Lochryanside,  and  up  to  the  hill- 
top, where  sits  the  lonely  house  of  the  March- 
banks.  A  runaway  horse,  frantic  with  the  clatter 
of  the  broken  shafts  behind  him  and  the  thresh  of 
trailing  harness,  tore  round  a  corner  upon  the 
children  as  they  played  together.  Miriam  sprang 
to  draw  little  Bob  out  of  danger.  But  a  hoof 
struck  her  even  as  she  clutched  him.  And  so  they 
brought  the  young  child  home  and  gave  her  to 
her  mother. 

It  was  by  the  window  that  looked  upon  the 
western  sea  that  they  laid  her  down,  and  she  lay 
there  a  little  time  silent  and  very  white.  But 
by-and-by  there  came  the  morning  and  the  dawn. 


202  Love   Idylls 


For  it  was  June,  and  the  daysprings  are  early 
then. 

"Look,  mother,"said  Miriam,  "look  out  of  the 
nursery  window  for  me,  and  see  if  there  is  any  star 
on  the  hill  to-night?" 

"No,  no,  Miriam,"  whispered  her  mother;  "hush 
thee,  dearest,  and  rest,  for  the  stars  are  long  ago 
gone  to  bed." 

"But  go  and  look,  mother,"  said  the  child. 

And  her  mother,  willing  to  pleasure  her  in  all, 
went.  And  lo,  as  she  looked,  she  was  aware  of  a 
tall  figure  like  a  grey  shadow,  that  stood  under  the 
tree  by  the  gate,  and  looked  steadfastly  towards  the 
house. 

It  was  her  father,  and  Ailie's  heart  stood  still. 

She  went  back. 

"Well,  mother,  did  you  see  the  star?" 

"Childie,"  she  said,  bending  over  the  cot,  "there 
are  no  stars.     It  is  coming  bright  day." 

"And  did  you  see  nothing,  mother?"  persisted 
Miriam. 

"I  saw  a  man  standing  by  the  gate." 

"Mother,"  said  the  little  one,  "lift  me  up  in  bed 
a  little  wee  bit." 

Propped  on  pillows  she  looked  out  over  the  sea. 
A  light  sprang  to  her  face  as  she  gazed.  "Mother," 
she  said  in  a  hushed,  eager  voice,  "why  did  you 


The  Purple  Mountains  203 

never  show  me  the  purple  mountains  over  the  sea 
before?  Was  I  never  awake  at  this  time  before? 
See,  they  are  over  yonder.  The  sun  is  shining  so 
bright  upon  them.  Look,  look  quickly,  mother 
dear." 

And  a  cry  sprang  from  the  mother's  heart  as  she 
looked,  for  there  were  no  hills  for  many  a 
thousand  miles  across  that  wide  western  sea. 

"There  are  no  mountains  there,  my  lamb,"  she 
said;  "only  the  sea  as  it  has  always  been.  Lie 
down  now  and  sleep,  dear  one." 

"But,  mother,"  said  Miriam,  "I  see  them;  I  see 
them  so  plainly.  It  is  a  fine  morning  there,  and 
all  the  children  will  be  going  out  to  play  and  gather 
the  flowers.  Let  me  get  up  too,  mother,  and  go 
out  with  the  others  to  pick  the  flowers  on  the 
purple  mountains." 

And  her  mother  hid  her  face  very  deep  in  the 
pillow. 

There  stole  a  little  hand  to  her  head. 

"That  was  grandfather's  step  on  the  gravel  by 
the  gate,"  she  said.  "Go  out  and  fetch  him  in. 
Say  little  Miriam  wants  him.  Perhaps  he  will  see 
the  purple  mountains !" 

And  without  a  word  her  mother  went.  And 
without  a  word  the  old  man  came  in.  Father  and 
daughter  stood  at  opposite  sides  of  the  bed. 


204  Love   Idylls 

"Look,  grandfather,"  said  Miriam.  "Isn't  it 
funny?  Mother  says  she  cannot  see  the  purple 
mountains  over  the  sea  there.  And  I  see  them  so 
plain.  Why,  I  can  see  the  sun  on  their  tops,  and 
the  little  dimply  valleys  where  the  children  play, 
and  the  woods.  Oh,  I  can  almost  hear  the  birds 
sing.  There  are  no  sick  children  or  sad  folk  any- 
where. Look  over  the  sea,  grandfather,  and  tell 
me  if  you  can  see  the  purple  hills  with  the  sun 
shining  on  them.  You  will  tell  me  true,  won't 
you,  grandfather?" 

And  she  took  the  old  man's  hand.  He  stooped 
gravely  over  the  bed,  and  his  eyes  followed  along 
the  direction  of  her  finger. 

"I  see  them,"  he  said.  "I  see  them  plainly,  little 
Miriam." 

She  clapped  her  hands  and  cried  aloud,  "I  knew 
you  would,  grandfather.     Now,  mother,  you  see." 

Miriam  reached  up  a  hand  to  either  side  of  the 
bed. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  "it  is  growing  a  little  dark 
again;  I  cannot  find  your  hand — give  it  to  me  into 
mine."     She  had  taken  the  old  man's  hand  already. 

"Grandfather,"  she  said,  "take  mother  to  the 
window  and  let  her  see  the  purple  mountains.  She 
cannot  see  them  by  herself!" 

And  father  and  daughter  withdrew  to  the  win- 


The  Purple  Mountains  205 

dow,  and  clasped  each  other  for  the  first  time  in 
ten  years. 

But  when  they  turned,  little  Miriam  had  gone 
out  to  play  with  the  other  children  upon  the  purple 
mountains  far  beyond  the  sea,  whereon  the  sun- 
shine lies  for  ever  and  ever. 


A   GOLDEN   MORNING 

Sweetheart  and  I  had  had  many  adventures  to- 
gether, but  there  was  one  pleasure  which  I  had 
hitherto  kept  to  myself  with  a  niggardliness  quite 
unworthy  of  Sweetheart's  broadminded  generosity : 
I  had  never  yet  let  her  see  the  sunrise. 

Now,  I  am  a  professional  seer  of  sunrises,  not 
having  missed  above  a  dozen  or  so  in  as  many 
years.  There  were  few  tales  that  Sweetheart  likes 
so  well  as  to  hear  me  tell  of  some  of  these  in  various 
quarters  of  the  world. 

"Tell  about  the  man  in  Africa  what  wouldn't  put 
the  photograph  box  on  his  camel !  No,  that  isn't 
the  way — it  begins,  'His  name  was  Muhmmed  Ali 
Mustapha  Ibharim  el  Raschid' — yes,  indeedy,  you 
said  so  last  time,  and  you  mustn't  make  it  up  as  you 
go  along,  but  tell  it  right." 

Or  it  might  chance  to  be,  "The  story  of  the  man 
who  climbed  the  cocoanut-tree  to  get  you  some 
milk  when  you  were  thirsty — or,  no,  about  how 


208  Love  Idylls 

Dog  Royal  took  you  in  swimming  and  made  you 
play  truant.    That  is  the  best  of  all !" 

"Sweetheart,"  said  I,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  reck- 
lessness at  the  sight  of  her  bright  face,  "if  it  is  a  fine 
morning  to-morrow  AND  you  go  to  sleep  early 
to-night  AND  you  are  a  good  girl  all  day  AND 
you  promise  that  you  won't  tell " 

"Yes — yes,  father — I  will — I  mean  I  won't — tell 
me  what  it  is  we  are  going  to  do  and  I'll  be  as 
good,  as  oh — that!" 

And  Sweetheart  opened  her  arms  to  their  fullest 
extent  in  order  to  express  the  measure  of  her 
goodness. 

"Perhaps— I  don't  say  I  will.     But  if " 

"Get  on,  father.  You  speak  so  slow  when  a 
little  girl  is  waiting!" 

"Perhaps  to-morrow  you  might  see  a  sunrise  for 
yourself!" 

"OO-oo-ooh!  can  I?  I  wish  it  were  now,  I 
shan't  never  sleep — not  a  wink,  with  thinkin' 
about  it!" 

"But  you  must,  or  I  shall  not  take  you.  So  be 
calm!" 

"Shall  I  ever  be  as  calm  as  you,  father?  You 
don't  really  care  for  sweets  or  bread  and  sugar,  or 
gooseberry  tart,  or  candied  cocoanut,  or  anything 
just  dreadful  nice." 


A   Golden   Morning  209 

Sweetheart  and  I  were  away  for  a  little  cheap  trip 
on  our  own  accounts.  Our  shining  steed,  a  tri- 
cycle emphatically  built  for  two  (Sweetheart  being 
a  gentlewoman  passenger),  was  being  oiled  up  and 
its  chain  mended  in  the  blacksmith's  shop  down  in 
the  village.  It  was  very  nearly  the  prettiest  vil- 
lage in  Scotland,  where  there  are,  out  of  Fife  and 
Galloway,  not  many  pretty  villages.  I  love  to  call 
it  Whinnyliggate,  and  Sweetheart  likes  to  think 
that  "Mr.  Father"  went  to  school  down  there  in 
that  little  low  school-room  with  the  wall  round  it. 

The  adventure  came  off  just  as  it  was  planned, 
which  things  very  seldom  do  in  this  world.  Sweet- 
heart had  been  "good"  (but  not  too  good).  It  was 
a  fine  morning,  flattering  the  turnip-shaws  as  well 
as  the  mountain  tops — the  sort  of  morning  you 
want  to  drink,  and  then  smack  your  lips  and  say, 
"How  refreshing!" 

I  waked  Sweetheart  by  rolling  her  up  in  her 
blanket  and  carrying  her  to  the  window. 

"Oh,  father,"  she  said,  her  eyes  still  dusked  with 
sleep,  "is  it  review  day?" 

For  whenever  she  is  waked  suddenly  and  taken 
to  the  window  she  always  thinks  that  it  is  to  see  the 
soldiers  pass,  as  she  does  once  a  year  when  in  mid- 
summer the  volunteers  march  through  our  village 


2 1  o  Love   Idylls 

(our  real  for-true  home  village)  on  their  way  to 
summer  camp. 

"No,  Sweetheart,"  I  say.  "It  is  morning  and 
you  are  going  out  to  see  the  sun  rise.  But  don't 
make  a  noise.  Nobody  will  be  up  for  hours  yet, 
and  so  we  must  go  out  on  tiptoe !" 

Sweetheart  is  dressed  to  the  accompaniment  of 
little  gurgles  of  sound  expressive  of  intense  de- 
light. Sometimes  when  I  have  a  safety-pin  in  my 
mouth  she  would  give  my  arm  a  quick  impulsive 
hug,  and  say,  "De-e-ear  father!"  for  no  particular 
reason  except  that  she  considered  her  own  a  par- 
ticularly nice  thing  in  fathers. 

When  all  was  finished,  we  began  a  raid  on  the 
pantry  with  enormous  caution  (Indians  on  the  war- 
trail  !)  and  captured  bread,  butter,  and  slices  of 
ham  sufficient  for  half-a-dozen  sandwiches.  Pres- 
ently we  were  outside  the  door,  and  the  dewy  cool- 
ness dropped  upon  us  like  the  first  dip  in  the  sea. 

"It's  like  having  your  face  washed  without 
water!"  said  Sweetheart,  as  we  made  our  way  up 
the  garden  walk  between  the  gooseberry  bushes 
and  over  the  wall.  Here  I  mounted  Sweetheart  on 
my  shoulders,  for  the  big  grass  was  long  and  dewy. 
Bees  big  and  brown  were  already  booming  in  the 
foxgloves,  and  pearls  sparkled  on  the  gossamer 
suspension  bridges  that  spanned  the  path.     The 


A   Golden   Morning  211 

swifts  were  busily  arranging  their  family  affairs  in 
long  screaming  swoops.  A  little  breeze  came  to 
ns  filtered  through  miles  of  dewy  woodland.  It 
was  a  good  breeze  and  smelt  of  many  pleasant 
things.  Sweetheart  on  my  shoulders  clutched  my 
hair  and  gave  it  little  involuntary  tugs  as  she 
looked  all  round  the  horizon.  We  were  mounting 
the  heathery  hillside,  and  there  was  no  trace  of  the 
sun  to  be  seen  anywhere. 

I  think  that,  even  at  the  last  moment,  Sweet- 
heart expected  that  he  might  outwit  us.  But  no, 
he  had  not  stolen  a  march  upon  us  this  time.  Only 
away  to  the  east  there  was  a  kind  of  fire-coloured 
wash  in  the  hollow  between  two  hills. 

"I  know,"  said  Sweetheart,  who  always  ex- 
plained everything,  "that's  his  bath  getting  ready 
for  him.     He's  going  to  pop  up  just  there !" 

I  think  she  expected  the  sun  to  shoot  suddenly 
upward  like  a  shuttlecock  well  hit.  At  last  we  had 
climbed  high  on  the  hill-crest  where  the  rocks  were 
dry  and  crisp  for  the  feet.  I  set  Sweetheart  down. 
The  wash  of  fire  had  grown  rapidly  larger.  It 
spread  to  the  higher  clouds,  which  were  flaked  with 
sea-shell  pink.  Bars  of  crimson  gathered  across 
the  sun's  path — "as  if  the  horrid  things  would 
keep  him  down  if  they  could !"  she  said.     Then  she 


212  Love   Idylls 

grew  a  little  frightened  at  the  image  she  had  con- 
jured up. 

"But  they  won't— will  they,  father?" 

This  little  girl  has  always  a  fear  lest  some  great 
pleasure,  long  looked  forward  to,  should  escape  her 
at  the  pinch.     Presently  a  new  terror  struck  her. 

"Does  he  go  off  with  a  bang — like  the  gun  on 
the  Castle  at  lunch-time?"  she  asked,  and  she 
caught  my  hand  and  held  it  very  firmly  to  be  ready 
"in  case." 

I  reassured  her  on  this  score  and  we  waited. 
We  had  not,  however,  long  to  wait  now.  A  red 
rim,  a  sort  of  hush  as  the  hilltop  whirled  into  the 
westerly-bound  wave  of  light,  our  shadows  rushing 
out  thirty  yards  behind  us — and  the  sun  rose.  At 
the  same  moment  a  black  cloud  of  rooks  was  flung 
high  into  the  air  from  the  woods  about  the  hall,  and 
drifted  noisily  away  towards  the  turnip-fields. 

Sweetheart  did  not  say  a  word  till  all  was  over, 
then  she  drew  a  long  long  breath  of  raptest 
pleasure. 

"How  quietly  he  does  it !"  she  said. 

I  could  not  help  it — I  never  can  when  Sweet- 
heart speaks  like  that.  I  am  bound  to  improve  the 
occasion.  It  must  be  some  of  the  Westminister 
Catechism  in  my  blood — the  "Reasons  Annexed" 
as  it  were. 


A   Golden   Mornin 


g  2I3 


"All  the  great  things  in  the  world  are  quiet,"  I 
said  very  sententiously — "dawn,  spring,  sleep, 
love" — (I  was  going  to  add  death,  but  refrained). 

"But  the  birds  sing,"  objected  Sweetheart  in  a 
cavalier  manner,  "and  please,  if  you  don't  mind,  so 
would  I.  I  didn't  have  time  to  say  my  prayers  this 
morning,  you  see.     So  this  is  instead." 

"You  can  say  them  now,"  I  suggested. 

"No-o."  Sweetheart  gave  the  matter  due  con- 
sideration. "No — but  I'll  sing  a  little  song  in- 
stead!" 

"And  what  shall  it  be,  Sweetheart?" 

Sweetheart  paused,  finger  on  lip,  telling  over, 
as  I  thought,  her  roll-call  of  morning  hymns. 

"I  think  'Bonny  Dundee'  is  best!"  she  said  at 
last. 

Alas !  that  such  a  thing  should  be  in  a  Round- 
head and  Covenanting  household !  But  certain  it 
is  that  Sweetheart's  prayers  were  compounded  for 
by  the  stirring  strains  of  Sir  Walter's  ballad. 

To  the  Lords  of  Convention  'twas  Claverhouse  spoke, 

Ere  the  King's  crown  shall  fall  there  are  crowns  to  be  broke ; 

So  let  each  cavalier  who  loves  honour  and  me 

Come  follow  the  bonnet  o'  bonny  Dundee. 

After  all  it  did  not  greatly  matter.  The  child's 
voice  carried  the  intent  of  worship  where  many 
matin  hymns  do  not  reach. 


214  Love  Idylls 

"And  now,"  said  Sweetheart,  with  a  sharp  stop, 
'Tse  hungry." 

We  sat  down  by  a  crystal  spring  in  the  high 
brave  morning  air,  and  never  did  breakfast  taste 
better.  We  took  bite  about  of  the  sandwiches, 
and  when  it  came  to  drinking-time  I  hollowed  my 
palms  and  Sweetheart  drank  daintily  out  of  that 
cup  as  a  bird  drinks  at  a  fountain  edge. 

Then  we  went  down,  shouting  aloud  to  awake 
the  mountain  echoes.  The  great  things  of  the 
world  are  quiet.  But  we  did  not  want  to  be  great, 
only  to  be  happy.  So  we  climbed  into  the  road, 
with  its  fine  dust  drenched  and  laid  with  the  dew. 

At  the  turn  of  the  road,  on  a  little  patch  of  grass, 
a  tramp  family  had  encamped.  There  was  a  father, 
a  mother  with  a  young  baby  that  wailed  upon  her 
breast,  and  a  little  girl  who  rose  at  sight  of  us  and 
ran  towards  Sweetheart. 

"We  are  awfu'  hungry,"  she  said;  "we  have  had 
nothing  to  eat  since  yesterday  morning." 

"The  shops  are  not  open,"  said  Sweetheart, 
rising  to  the  occasion,  "but  come  with  me  and  I'll 
steal  you  something  out  of  the  pantry.  Father 
won't  tell !" 

This  shows  how  badly  Sweetheart  has  been 
brought  up,  and  how  little  she  thinks  of  a  parent's 
honesty. 


A   Golden   Morning  215 

So  the  ragged  little  girl  trotted  along  after  us, 
Sweetheart  looking  over  her  shoulder  every  now 
and  then  with  a  reassuring  air,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"He's  all  right.  He  looks  very  imposing,  but, 
bless  you,  it's  all  put  on !" 

In  this  manner  we  came  to  the  house  of  our 
lodgment.  The  door  was  as  we  left  it.  Not  a  soul 
stirred  within.  This  was  strange.  It  seemed  the 
middle  of  the  forenoon  to  us.  Sweetheart  entered, 
and  after  a  while  emerged  with  the  ham  bone, 
knuckly,  but  in  spots  capable  of  repaying  atten- 
tion. To  this  was  added  half  a  loaf,  a  large  pat  of 
butter,  and  an  unopened  tin  of  caviare — all  the 
necessaries  and  luxuries  of  life. 

"Now,  can  I  give  the  little  girl  my  Saturday's 
money?     Let  me,  father!"  she  pleaded. 

And  whatever  was  thought  by  the  Recording 
Angel  of  "Bonny  Dundee,"  considered  as  a  morn- 
ing hymn,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  his  opinion  of 
this  act  of  worship.  For  Sweetheart  had  cast  into 
the  treasury  all  that  she  had. 

But  as  she  watched  the  small  tramp  rush  off  with 
the  ham  bone  and  the  loaf  against  her  breast,  and 
the  sixpence  of  sterling  silver  clutched  in  her  palm, 
Sweetheart  heaved  a  long  sigh. 

"And  I  did  so  want  a  new  dolly's  bonnet  for 
Isobel !"  she  said. 


BILLIAM 

"No,  father,"  said  Billiam,  with  decision;  "I  am 
not  half  good  enough  to  make  a  parson  of.  You 
must  give  the  living  to  Harry.  He  will  make  a  first- 
rater.  He  is  all  the  time  mousing  about  among 
books !" 

Billiam  and  his  father  were  standing  together  in 
the  rectory  garden,  which  looked  over  the  beautiful 
vale  of  St.  John.  Helvellyn  slept  above  them, 
stretched  out  like  a  lion  with  his  head  low  between 
his  paws.  The  lake  glimmered  beneath  all,  dreamy 
in  the  light  midsummer  haze.  Bees  hummed  in  the 
old  garden,  and  the  flowers  on  which  they  made 
themselves  drunken  reeled  and  shook  with  the  press 
of  the  revellers. 

The  old  rector  of  Applethwaite  was  dead.  This 
day  of  midsummer  had  been  his  funeral  day.  An 
old  man  full  to  the  brim  of  years  and  dignities,  he 
had  lived  all  his  life  under  the  wing  of  his  brother 
the  squire,  rooted  safely  in  the  family  living,  dining 
every  Sunday  and  Thursday  at  the  Hall,  and  read- 


2 1  8  Love   Idylls 

ing  his  hundred  sermons  in  a  rotation  as  settled  and 
regular  as  that  of  the  crops.  But  now  the  old  order 
was  changed,  and,  according  to  the  squire's  provi- 
dential arrangement,  the  new  order  was  to  be — 
Billiam. 

His  real  name  was  William,  with  something  very 
distinguished  after  it.  Yet  nobody  thought  of  call- 
ing him  anything  but  Billiam — except  only  the 
squire  when,  as  at  present,  Billiam  and  he  differed 
in  opinion.  Then  he  said,  "William  Reginald  Se- 
toun  Ormithwaite,  will  you  dare  to  disobey  your 
father?"  And  Billiam  hung  his  head,  for  he  knew 
that  a  day  was  coming  when  he  would. 

At  school  he  had  been  called  Billiam,  for  the 
reason  that  a  "Yorker"  is  called  a  "Yorker,"  because 
it  was  obvious  that  he  could  be  called  nothing  else. 
The  boy  whose  Latin  verses  he  did  said  to  him, 
"Now,  go  on,  old  Billiam,  hurry  up !  I  want  to  go 
out  to  the  playing  fields  to  smite  that  young  toad, 
Scott  minor,  for  making  faces  at  me  and  making  me 
laugh  in  chapel !"  So  to  save  time  Billiam  gave  him 
his  own  copy  of  verses,  and  saw  the  plagiarist  pass 
to  the  head  of  the  form  next  day,  on  the  strength  of 
Billiam's  iambics.  Yet  that  boy  never  even  thought 
of  thanking  the  author  and  origin  of  his  distinction. 
Why  should  he  ?    It  was  "only  old  Billiam." 

Billiam  failed  also  in  gaining  the  love  and  respect 


Billiam  2 1 9 


of  his  masters,  to  the  extent  which,  upon  his  merits, 
was  his  due.  For  one  thing,  he  was  forever  bring- 
ing all  manner  of  broken-down  sparrows,  maimed 
rabbits,  and  three-legged  dogs  into  the  school — and, 
if  possible,  even  into  the  dormitory.  Then  smells  of 
diverse  kinds  arose,  and  bred  quarrelsome  dissension 
of  a  very  positive  kind.  The  house-master  came  up 
one  night  to  find  Billiam  with  an  open  knife  in  his 
hand,  driving  fiercely  into  a  throng  of  boys  armed 
with  cricket  bats  and  wickets.  Whereupon  he 
promptly  dashed  at  the  young  desperado,  and 
wrested  the  knife  out  of  his  hands. 

"Do  you  wish  to  murder  somebody?"  cried  the 
house-master,  shaking  him. 

"Yes,"  said  Billiam  stoutly,  "if  Lowther  throws 
my  white  mice  out  of  the  window." 

No  further  proceedings  were  taken,  because,  upon 
examination,  Billiam  proved  to  be  scored  black  and 
blue  with  the  wickets  of  his  adversaries.  He  was, 
however,  from  this  time  forth  given  a  bedroom  upon 
the  ground  floor,  with  a  little  court  in  front  which 
looked  upon  the  laundry.  And  here  Billiam,  still 
unrepentant,  was  allowed  to  tend  his  menagerie  in 
peace,  provided  always  that  it  did  not  entirely  de- 
stroy the  sanitation  of  the  school.  But  when  the 
governing  committee  came  to  inspect  the  premises, 
the   head-master   carefully   piloted   them   past   the 


220  Love   Idylls 


entrance  of  the  court  wherein  dwelt  Billiam,  keeping 
well  to  windward  of  it. 

Anybody  else  would  have  been  promptly  expelled, 
but  Billiam' s  father  was  a  very  important  person 
indeed,  and  the  head-master  had  known  him  inti- 
mately at  college.  Besides,  no  one  could  possibly 
have  expelled  Billiam.  The  very  ruffians  who 
whacked  him  with  cricket  bats  would  straightway 
have  risen  in  mutiny. 

By-and-by  Billiam's  father  tried  him  at  Oxford, 
but,  though  Billiam  stayed  his  terms,  he  would  have 
none  of  it.  So  when  the  Rectory  fell  vacant,  it 
seemed  all  that  could  be  done  to  make  arrangements 
by  which  Billiam  would  succeed  his  uncle.  The 
Right  Honourable  Reginald  Setoun  Ormithwaite, 
Billiam's  "pater,"  saw  no  difficulty  in  the  matter. 
He  had  been  at  Eton  and  Christchurch  with  the 
Bishop  of  Lakeland,  and  the  matter  lent  itself  nat- 
urally to  this  arrangement.  Every  one  felt  this  to 
be  the  final  solution  of  a  most  difficult  problem. 
Everybody  even  remotely  connected  with  the  family 
was  consulted,  and  all  expressed  their  several  de- 
lights with  relief  and  alacrity.  But  in  the  meantime 
nothing  was  said  to  Billiam,  who  had  a  setter  with 
a  broken  leg  upon  his  mind,  and  so  lived  mostly 
about  the  kennels  and  smelled  of  liniment. 

But  when  his  father  told  the  proximate  rector 


Billiam  221 


that  he  must  begin  to  prepare  for  the  Bishop's  ex- 
amination, and  go  into  residence  for  some  months  at 
St.  Abb's  famous  theological  college  (called  in  cleri- 
cal circles  ''The  Back  Door"),  Billiam  most  unex- 
pectedly refused  point  blank  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  the  plan.  He  would  be  no  parson ;  he  was  not 
good  enough,  he  asserted.  Harry  could  have  it. 
The  Right  Honourable  Reginald  Setoun  Ormi- 
thwaite,  ex-Cabinet  Minister  and  P.  C,  broke  into  a 
rage  almost  as  violent  as  when  his  party  leader  pro- 
claimed a  new  policy  without  consulting  him.  He 
informed  Billiam  (under  the  designation  of  William 
Reginald  Setoun)  how  many  different  kinds  of  fool 
he  was,  and  told  him  as  an  ultimatum  that  if  he  re- 
fused this  last  chance  to  establish  himself  in  life,  he 
need  expect  no  further  help  or  consideration  from 
him. 

Billiam  listened  uneasily,  and  with  a  deep-seated 
regret  obvious  upon  his  downcast  face.  It  was  piti- 
ful, he  thought  privately,  to  see  so  dignified  and  re- 
spectable a  man  as  his  father  thus  losing  control  of 
himself.  So  Billiam  fidgeted,  hoping  that  the  pain- 
ful scene  would  soon  be  over,  so  that  he  might  get 
back  again  to  the  lame  setter  at  the  kennels. 

When  Billiam's  father  had  at  once  concisely  and 
completely  expressed  his  opinions  as  to  Billiam's 
sanity,   Billiam's  ingratitude,   Billiam's   disgraceful 


222  Love   Idylls 


present  conduct  and  unparalleled  future  career,  and 
when  he  had  concluded  with  a  vivid  picture  of 
Billiam's  ultimate  fate  (which  was  obviously  not  to 
be  drowned)  he  paused,  partly  in  order  to  recover 
his  breath  and  partly  to  invite  suggestions  from  the 
culprit.  Not  that  he  expected  Billiam  to  answer. 
Indeed  he  held  it  almost  an  insult  for  one  of  his  chil- 
dren to  attempt  to  answer  one  of  his  questions  at 
such  a  moment. 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  that,  sir  ?  What  excuse 
have  you  to  make?  Answer  me  that,  sir.  Silence, 
sir,  I  will  not  listen  to  a  single  word.  You  may  well 
stand  abashed  and  silent.  Have  I  brought  a  son 
into  the  world  for  this — kept  you,  given  you  an 
expensive  education  only  for  this?" 

So  Billiam  kept  silence  and  thought  hard  of  the 
setter  down  at  the  kennels.  Those  bandages  ought 
to  be  wet  again.  It  was  an  hour  past  the  time.  He 
kept  changing  from  one  foot  to  the  other  upon  the 
gravel  walk. 

"Don't  insult  my  by  jumping  about  like  a  hen  on 
a  hot  girdle,"  cried  his  father;  "tell  me  what  you 
think  of  doing  with  yourself,  for  I  will  no  longer 
support  y<»u  in  idleness  and  debauchery." 

"I  should  like  to  be  a  veterinary  surgeon,  sir," 
said  Billiam,  scraping  with  his  toe. 

"Let  that  gravel  alone,   will  you — a  veterinary 


Billiam  223 

devil — an  Ormithwaite  a  damned  cow  doctor !    Get 
out  of  my  sight,  sir,  before  I  strike  you !" 

And  accordingly  Billiam  went — down  to  the  ken- 
nels to  visit  the  setter,  wondering  all  the  way 
whether,  as  the  skin  was  not  broken,  he  ought  to 
use  an  embrocation  or  stick  to  the  cold  water  band- 
ages. 

******* 

And  this  is  briefly  why  Billiam  found  himself  in 
Edinburgh,  and  established  in  a  nest  of  unfurnished 
garret  rooms  which  he  had  discovered  by  chance  at 
the  end  of  Montgomery  Street,  in  the  Latin  quarter 
of  the  city.  Billiam  had  a  hundred  and  thirty 
pounds — a  hundred  of  which  had  been  given  him  by 
his  father  with  the  information  that  it  must  see  him 
through  a  year,  and  thirty  which  his  elder  brother 
Herbert  (captain  in  the  110th  Hussars)  had  sent 
him. 

"Young  fool,  Billiam — always  was!"  said  Captain 
Herbert;  "guess  he's  pretty  tightly  off."  And  with 
that  he  stuffed  into  the  envelope  the  thirty  pounds 
which  he  had  set  apart  as  a  sedative  for  his  tailor. 

"The  young  blackguard  will  need  the  money  more 
than  old  Moses!"  said  the  Hussar. 

Billiam  had,  to  save  appearances,  compromised  on 
the  question  of  the  veterinary  surgeon.  He  was  to 
study  hard  in  order  to  become  an  ordinary  surgeon 


224  Love   Idylls 

and  physician  of  humans.  He  was  only  to  be  allowed 
to  come  home  once  a  year.  He  had  agreed  not  to 
pester  his  father  with  requests  for  more  money.  In 
every  way  Billiam  was  made  to  feel  that  he  was  the 
prodigal  son  and  a  disgrace  to  the  stock  of  the  Or- 
mithwaites  of  Ormithwaite.  "One  of  the  families, 
sir,"  said  his  father,  "which  have  constituted  for 
three  hundred  years  the  governing  classes  of  these 
islands." 

So  it  was  in  this  manner  that  Billiam  took  the 
very  modest  portion  of  goods  which  pertained  to 
him,  and  departed  to  the  far  country  of  Montgomery 
Street,  South  Side,  just  where  that  notable  thor- 
oughfare gives  upon  the  greasy  gloom  of  the  Pleas- 
ance.  How  Billiam  spent  his  living,  and  upon 
whom,  this  history  is  intended  to  tell. 

Day  by  day  the  student  of  medicine  scorned  de- 
lights. Day  and  night  were  to  him  alike  laborious. 
For  Billiam,  all  unknown  to  his  father,  was  also  tak- 
ing classes  at  the  Veterinary  College  upon  a  most 
ingenious  system  of  alternative  truantry.  He  at- 
tended his  medical  professors  upon  such  days  as  it 
was  likely  that  cards  would  be  called  for.  And  in 
addition  to  this  he  procured  a  certain  interim  con- 
tinuity in  his  studies  by  "getting  a  look  at  another 
fellow's  notes." 

Billiam's  "piggery"  in  Montgomery  Street,  as  it 


Billiam 


225 


was  called  by  the  few  of  his  comrades  who  had  ever 
seen  its  secrets,  was  something  to  wonder  at.  In- 
stead of  taking  a  comfortable  sitting-room  and  bed- 
room in  a  well-frequented  and  sanitary  neighbour- 
hood, Billiam  entered  into  the  tenancy  of  an  entire 
suite  of  rooms  upon  the  garret  floor  of  one  of  the 
high  "lands"  which  are  a  distinctive  feature  of  the 
old  quarter  of  St.  Leonards. 

Within  this  tumbledown  dwelling  Billiam  found 
himself  in  possession  of  five  large  rooms,  with  wide 
windows  and  in  some  instances  with  skylights  also. 
He  was  to  pay  at  the  modest  rate  of  eight  pounds  in 
the  half-year  for  the  lot.  Billiam  counted  down  his 
first  quarter's  rent,  and  went  out  to  order  a  brass 
plate.  This  cost  him  thirty  shillings,  and  he  had  to 
pay  separately  for  the  lettering,  which  said,  some- 
what vaguely: 


CONSULTATION  FREE 


EVERY    MORNING    BEFORE    NINE, 

AND 

EVERY    EVENING    AFTER    SIX. 


This  Billiam  burnished  up  daily  with  the  tail  of 
his  dress  coat,  which  he  had  torn  off  for  the  purpose. 


226  Love  Idylls 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  need  it  any  more,"  he  said,  "so 
I  may  as  well  use  it." 

So  he  used  it.  It  did  very  well,  being  lined  with 
silk. 

Then  Billiam  double-bolted  the  plate  to  the  door, 
for  he  understood  the  way  of  Montgomery  Street, 
and  sat  down  to  study  the  monograph  of  Herr 
Doctor  Pumpenstock  of  Vienna  upon  headaches. 

Billiam  had  three  chairs  to  start  with — two  stiff- 
backed  chairs  for  clients  and  an  easy-chair,  which 
cost  2s.  u$d.  at  a  cheap  sale  of  furniture  in  Nichol- 
son Street. 

Billiam  felt  that  he  might  go  that  length  in  luxury. 

Billiam  had  once  possessed  more  furniture  than 
this.  He  had  a  wooden  bed  which  he  had  bought  in 
the  Cowgate  for  4s.  and  carried  up  the  Pleasance 
himself,  post  by  post  and  plank  by  plank.  He  only 
slept  upon  it  one  night.  The  next  day  he  began  to 
cut  it  up  for  fire-wood.  It  was  a  good  bed  though,  he 
said,  but  not  for  sleeping  on.  After  the  first  five 
minutes  it  began  to  bite  you  all  over. 

So  Billiam  burned  the  4s.  bed,  and  it  turned  out 
all  right  that  way.  It  crackled  like  green  wood  as  it 
burned.  Presently  the  fame  of  Billiam's  brass  plate 
waxed  great  in  the  land.  Dr.  Macfarlane,  a  short- 
winded  and  short-tempered  man,  came  upon  the  an- 
nouncement quite  unexpectedly  as  he  was  puffing  his 


Billiam  227 


way  up  the  weary,  grimy,  stone  stairs,  to  visit  the 
sister  of  the  seamstress  who  lived  upon  the  other 
side  of  the  landing  from  Billiam. 

To  say  simply  that  Dr.  Macfarlane  was  aston- 
ished does  considerable  injustice  to  his  state  of  mind. 
He  stood  regarding  the  brightly  polished,  clearly  let- 
tered announcement  for  fully  ten  minutes.  Then  he 
rang  the  bell,  and  an  answering  peal  came  from  just 
the  other  side  of  the  panel.  But  no  one  arrived  to 
open,  for  it  was  the  middle  of  the  day  and  Billiam 
was  at  his  classes.  Dr.  Macfarlane  could  learn  little 
from  the  seamstress  or  her  sister,  beyond  the  general 
suspicion  that  their  neighbour  upon  the  other  side  of 
the  landing  was  "maybes  no  verra  richt  in  his  mind." 

It  was  not  the  seamstress,  but  the  seamstress's  sis- 
ter, who  volunteered  this  information. 

"But  he  sent  us  in  these,"  added  the  seamstress, 
who  was  a  pale  and  exceedingly  pretty  girl,  pointing 
to  some  nobly  plumped  purple  grapes  which  lay  on  a 
plate  on  the  little  cracked  table  by  the  bedside. 

"He'll  be  a  kind  o'  young  doctor  seekin'  a  job,  nae 
doot!"  said  the  seamstress's  sister,  sinking  back  on 
her  pillows.    For  gratitude  was  not  her  strong  point. 

The  suggestion  excited  the  doctor.  For  he  was 
a  man  who  had  worked  hard  at  his  most  uncertain 
and  unremunerative  practice.  Besides  which,  he  had 
a  young  family  growing  up  about  him.    If  therefore 


228  Love   Idylls 

he  was  to  have  a  young  interloper  settling  in  the  cen- 
tre of  his  sphere  of  influence,  it  was  as  well  to  know 
with  whom  he  had  to  contend. 

So  he  called  upon  Billiam. 

It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  Dr.  Mac- 
farlane  came  stumbling  up  Billiam's  stairs.  The 
door  stood  slightly  ajar,  and  there  came  from  the 
other  side  a  confused  murmur  of  voices,  a  yelping  of 
dogs,  with  sundry  other  sounds  which  even  the 
doctor's  trained  ear  could  not  distinguish.  But 
above  all  there  rose  fitfully  the  shrill  cry  of  an  infant. 
Upon  hearing  this  last  the  doctor  pushed  the  door 
with  the  brass  plate  open,  and  entered  unceremoni- 
ously. He  found  himself  in  a  large  unfurnished 
room,  which,  when  he  stepped  within,  seemed  at  first 
nearly  full  of  people.  It  was  brightly  enough  lighted, 
for  the  broad  flame  of  a  No.  6  gas-burner  hissed 
with  excess  of  pressure  above  the  bare  mantel-piece. 
A  fire  burned  in  the  grate,  which  shone  cheerfully 
enough,  being  heaped  high  with  small  lumps  of  coal. 

Most  of  the  people  were  ranged  along  the  walls  of 
the  room,  sitting  with  their  backs  against  the  wall- 
paper, upon  which  their  shoulders  had  made  a  glossy 
brown  strip  all  round — young  lads  with  dogs  be- 
tween their  knees,  girls  holding  cats  in  baskets,  mid- 
dle-aged women  nursing  birds  in  cages. 

They  talked  to  each  other  in  subdued  tones,  or  to 


Billiam  229 


their  pets  in  whispers.  Sometimes  a  dog  would  be- 
come excited  by  the  voice  of  a  cat  complaining  of 
bonds  and  imprisonments  near  him,  but  he  would  be 
promptly  cuffed  into  submission  by  his  master;  or  a 
canary  would  suddenly  flutter  against  the  bars, 
warned  by  instinct  of  the  proximity  of  so  many 
enemies. 

The  doctor  stood  awhile  rooted  in  amazement, 
and  did  not  even  take  any  notice  when  several  of  his 
former  patients  nodded  affably  across  to  him. 

Presently,  from  an  inner  room,  there  came  forth 
a  hard-featured  man,  carrying  a  large  book  under 
his  arm.  Billiam  followed  behind  him,  his  shock  of 
dark  hair  tossed  and  rumpled.  He  was  stooping  for- 
ward, and  eagerly  explaining  something  to  the  man. 
So  intent  was  he  upon  the  matter  in  hand,  that  he 
passed  the  doctor  without  so  much  as  noticing  him. 

"And  I'll  look  in  and  see  how  the  pair  of  you  have 
got  on  to-morrow,"  Billiam  said,  shaking  the  hard- 
featured  man  warmly  by  the  hand  at  the  door. 

Billiam  turned,  and,  for  the  first  time,  looked  the 
doctor  fairly  in  the  face. 

"My  name  is  Dr.  Macfarlane.  I  have  a  practice 
in  this  neighbourhood,"  said  the  physician,  "and  I 
should  like  the  favour  of  a  few  words  with  you." 

"Certainly.  By  all  means — with  pleasure,"  re- 
plied Billiam.    "Come  this  way." 


230  Love   Idylls 

t. 

.    And  they  went  together  into  the  second  of  the 

Montgomery  Street  garrets.     It  was  nearly  as  bare 

of  furniture  as  the  first.    There  was  no  more  than  a 

table,  some  bottles,  and  an  instrument-case,  while 

round  the  room,  arranged  so  as  to  make  the  most  of 

themselves,  stood  Billiam's  three  chairs. 

"Take  one,"  said  the  student  politely.  But  Dr. 
Macfarlane  preferred  to  stand  till  he  knew  exactly 
where  he  was. 

"I  have  the  honour  of  addressing "  he  said, 

and  paused. 

''William  Reginald  Setoun  Ormithwaite,"  said 
Billiam  quietly. 

"You  are  a  doctor?"  queried  his  visitor. 

"By  no  means;  I  am  only  a  student,"  said  Billiam 
quickly.  "But  I  give  these  people  a  hand  with  any- 
thing they  bring  along." 

"Do  you  possess  any  qualification?"  persisted  Dr. 
Macfarlane. 

"Qualification?"  said  Billiam,  a  little  perplexed. 
"Well,  I  've  been  patching  up  dogs'  legs  and  things 
all  my  life." 

"But,  sir,"  cried  the  doctor  indignantly,  "this  is 
no  better  than  an  equivocation.  I  heard  you  with 
my  own  ears  prescribing  for  the  man  who  went  out 
just  now — an  old  patient  of  my  own.  if  T  mistake 
not.     And  I  saw  you  with  these  eyes  taking  a  fee 


Billiam 


231 


from  him  as  he  passed  through  the  door.  Are  you 
aware,  sir,  that  the  latter  is  an  indictable  offence?" 

Billiam  smiled  with  his  usual  quietly  infinite  tol- 
erance. 

"Dr.  Macfarlane,"  he  said,  "it  may  sound  strange 
to  you,  but  the  fact  is  that  man  came  to  consult  me 
about  a  separation  from  his  wife.  And  he  brought 
his  family  Bible  out  of  the  pawnshop  to  show  me  the 
dates  of  his  marriage  and  birth  of  his  children.  I 
gave  him  something  when  he  went  away,  so  that  he 
would  not  need  to  take  the  Bible  back  into  pawn,  at 
least  not  immediately.  Do  you  think  I  need  any 
qualification  for  that?" 

"And  those  people  outside?"  said  the  doctor,  not 
yet  entirely  convinced. 

"Will  you  go  round  the  wards  with  me?"  said 
Billiam,  smiling  brightly  and  irresistibly. 

Without  another  word  he  led  the  way  to  the  door 
of  the  next  room.  It  seemed  to  the  doctor  fuller 
than  ever. 

"Lame  dogs  this  way!"  said  Billiam,  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  manner,  and  half-a-dozen  men  slouched 
after  him.  Very  deftly  Billiam  laid  out  a  row  of 
small  shining  instruments  upon  the  table,  with  salve, 
lint,  and  bandages  arranged  behind  them. 

Then  he  took  animal  after  animal  into  his  hands, 
set  it  upon  the  table,  passed  his  fingers  lightly  to  and 


232  Love   Idylls 

fro  over  its  head  and  ears  a  time  or  two,  listened  to 
the  owner's  voluble  explanations  without  appearing 
to  notice  them,  and  forthwith  proceeded  to  deliver  a 
little  clinical  lecture.  His  deft  fingers  snipped  away 
the  matted  hair  from  a  neglected  and  festering  sore. 
He  cleaned  the  wound  tenderly,  the  dog  often  in- 
stinctively turning  to  snap.  Yet  all  the  time  Billiam 
never  once  flinched,  but  talked  steadily,  impartially, 
and  sympathetically  to  the  animal  and  his  master  till 
the  sore  was  dressed  and  the  patient  redelivered, 
with  all  due  directions,  to  his  owner. 

Before  long  Dr.  Macfarlane  became  so  interested 
that  he  waited  while  case  after  case  was  disposed  of 
with  the  unerring  accuracy  of  an  hospital  expert. 
Sometimes  he  would  instinctively  have  the  lint  or 
the  bandage  ready  in  his  hand,  just  as  if  he  had  still 
been  dresser  at  the  old  infirmary  and  waiting  for 
Lister  to  work  off  his  batch. 

At  the  end  of  half-an-hour  he  had  no  more  re- 
membrance of  Billianrs  want  of  qualifications.  He 
asked  him  to  come  round  to  supper  and  smoke  a  pipe. 
But  Billiam  only  smiled  and  said,  "Thank  you  a 
hundred  times,  doctor,  but  I  have  some  private  cases 
in  the  back  room  to  attend  to  yet,  and  then  I  must 
read  up  my  stuff  for  to-morrow." 

After  a  while  there  came  to  visit  Billiam  a  minis- 


Billiam  233 


ter  or  two  familiar  with  the  district,  the  young  resi- 
dent missionary  from  the  Students'  Hall,  a  stray 
lawyer's  clerk  or  two — and  the  superintendent  of 
police.  They  all  came  to  cavil,  but,  one  and  all,  they 
remained  to  hold  bandages  and  be  handy  with  the 
vaseline. 

On  one  occasion  the  minister  of  St.  Margaret's 
offered  Billiam  the  use  of  a  pew  in  his  church.  But 
Billiam  said,  "Sunday  is  my  day  for  out-patients,  or 
I  should  be  glad."  For  Billiam  was  a  gentleman, 
and  always  answered  even  a  dissenting  clergyman 
politely. 

"You  should  think  of  your  immortal  soul!"  said 
the  minister. 

"Who  knoweth,"  said  Billiam,  "the  spirit  of  the 
beast,  that  goeth  downward  into  the  earth?" 

And  Billiam  could  never  find  out  why  the  minis- 
ter went  away  so  suddenly,  or  why  he  shook  his 
head  ever  afterward  when  they  met  in  the  street.  It 
never  crossed  his  mind  that  Mr.  Gregson,  of  St. 
Margaret's,  had  taken  him  for  an  infidel  and  a  dan- 
gerous subverter  of  the  system  of  religion  as  by  law 
established.    Yet  so  it  was. 

In  due  time  Billiam's  nest  of  garrets  became 
known  as  the  "Lame  Dogs'  Home,"  and  grew 
famous   throughout  the  entire  city — that   is,   the 


234  Love   Idylls 

southern  city  of  high  lands,  steep  streets,  winding 
stairs,  and  odorous  closes,  with  their  Arab  popula- 
tion of  boys  and  dogs. 

:'You  let  that  long  lanky  chap  alone,"  cried  one 
brawny  burglar  to  another,  "or  I'll  smash  your  dirty 
face  like  a  rotten  turnip.  Now  mind  me!  Don't 
you  know  the  Dog  Missionary?" 

Every  policeman  befriended  Billiam,  and  the 
greater  number  of  the  policeman's  ordinary  clients. 
He  could  often  be  seen  walking  along  the  Pleasance 
or  past  the  breweries  in  the  Laigh  Calton  attended 
by  a  dozen  dogs,  which  had  followed  Billiam  far 
from  their  wonted  haunts,  on  the  chance  of  a  word 
from  him,  and  which  departed  obediently,  if  unwill- 
ingly, when  he  bade  them  return  to  their  own  places 
in  peace. 

Year  by  year  Billiam  studied  and  practised,  never 
a  penny  the  richer,  but  more  and  more  loving  and 
beloved.  His  garret,  however,  grew  somewhat  bet- 
ter furnished.  Through  the  mediation  of  his  sol- 
dier brother,  his  father  became  so  far  reconciled  to 
him  that  he  increased  his  allowance.  But  Billiam 
lived  in  no  greater  comfort  than  before.  He  bought 
a  cheap  bedstead,  it  is  true,  and  for  a  month  or  two 
dwelt  in  luxury,  sleeping  upon  a  real  mattress  with' 
a  clean  sheet,  and  folding  his  overcoat  for  a  pillow. 
But  even  that  came  to  an  end. 


Billiam 


235 


The  circumstances  were  these : 

Billiam  had  been  down  at  Ormithwaite  seeing  his 
father,  and  his  brother  (of  the  noth  Hussars)  in- 
sisted upon  returning  to  Edinburgh  with  him. 

"You'll  have  to  rough  it,  mind  you,"  said  Billiam, 
warning  him. 

"I'm  a  soldier,"  said  his  brother  stoutly,  "and  I 
guess  your  hole  can't  be  worse  than  some  places  I've 
put  up  in." 

"All  right,"  said  Billiam,  "mind,  I've  warned 
you.    Don't  grumble  when  you  get  there." 

So  at  their  journey's  end,  Billiam  opened  the  door 
of  the  garret  and  invited  his  brother  to  step  in.  A 
curious  damp  smell  met  them  on  the  threshold. 
"That's  all  right,"  said  Billiam,  reassuringly.  "I 
washed  out  the  whole  blooming  shop  with  chloride 
of  lime  the  night  before  I  came  away.  It's  healthy 
no  end,  if  it  does  stink  a  bit." 

"Maybe,"  said  his  brother  the  Captain,  "but  it  cer- 
tainly does  smell  like  stables." 

"Well,  I'll  have  the  fire  lighted,  and  we'll  have 
some  supper  before  the  people  begin  to  come,"  said 
Billiam  calmly;  "you'll  be  picking  these  old  rags 
for  lint,  and  laying  out  the  bandages." 

The  Captain  and  Billiam  dined  upon  a  rasher  of 
bacon  and  eggs  which  Billiam  fried  in  the  pan,  along 
with  sliced  potatoes  and  butter.    The  Hussar,  being 


236  Love  Idylls 

exceedingly  hungry,  thought  he  had  never  tasted 
anything  more  delicious. 

"They  don't  do  anything  like  this  at  the  club.  It 
is  such  a  jolly  flavour,  too,  quite  unique,"  he  said 
with  enthusiasm;  "seems  as  if  it  were  seasoned  with 
anchovy  or  some  French  sauce — quite  Parisian,  in 
fact !" 

"Yes,"  Billiam  answered  simply,  "that  is  the  red 
herrings  I  had  in  the  pan  last  week.  With  us  com- 
ing in  so  quick,  I  hadn't  time  to  clean  him  out  prop- 
erly." 

The  outer  room  was  rilling  up  all  this  time,  and 
the  yelping,  whistling  and  mewing  grew  louder  than 
even  the  cawing  of  the  rooks  in  the  old  trees  above 
Ormithwaite. 

"Tarantara!  Tarantara!"  cried  the  Hussar 
cheerfully.  "Turn  out  for  kennel  parade."  And  for 
two  hours  he  was  kept  busy  enough  with  his  lint  and 
bandages. 

"But  where  does  the  money  come  in!"  he  said, 
when  it  was  all  finished.  He  was  smoking  a  cigar- 
ette, and  Billiam  was  polishing  up  his  instruments. 

"Do  it  for  nothing? — don't  they  even  pay  for  all 
that  vaseline  and  plaster?  You  are  a  blamed  young 
fool,  Billiam,  and  will  die  in  the  workhouse." 

Then  the  Captain  yawned  a  little.  "It's  too  late 
for  the  theatre,"  he  said,  "even  if  you  knew  where 


Billiam  237 


one  was,  which  I  don't  believe.  I'm  deuced  tired,  let 
us  go  to  bed." 

Billiam  looked  about  him  doubtfully,  and  then 
suddenly  threw  up  his  hands  with  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair. 

"I  forgot,  old  chap;  on  my  life  and  honour,  I  quite 
forgot.  I  lent  my  bed  to  Peter  Wilkins,  the  water- 
colour  man.  He  had  pawned  his  to  pay  his  rent,  but 
he  thought  he  could  get  it  out  again  before  I  came 
back." 

"You  bet  he  couldn't,"  said  the  Hussar,  twirling 
his  handsome  moustache;  "I've  seen  that  kind  of 
man;  there  are  several  in  my  regiment." 

"Let's  go  and  look  Peter  up,  anyway,"  said 
Billiam;  "perhaps  we  can  get  the  bed  after  all." 

So  the  Hussar  accompanied  Billiam  through  the 
dimly-lighted  streets,  under  gloomy  archways,  past 
great  black  chasms  yawning  between  lofty  houses, 
till  they  arrived  at  the  dwelling  of  Wilkins,  "the 
water-colour  man,"  as  Billiam  said.  It  was  a  room 
upon  the  ground  floor  with  a  sunk  area  in  front. 

"It  does  not  look  promising,"  said  Billiam;  "the 
beast  isn't  lighted  up.  I  guess  old  Wilkins  is  either 
drunk  or  has  gone  to  the  country." 

"Perhaps  he  has  pawned  your  bed,  too,"  said  the 
Hussar  bitterly. 

Billiam  was  hurt  at  the  suggestion. 


238  Love   Idylls 

"Wilkins  is  a  gentleman,"  he  said,  "and  it  was 
only  last  week  he  sent  me  his  Skye  terrier  for  me  to 
doctor  up  and  have  all  right  for  him  when  he  came 
back.  Peter  isn't  the  chap  to  sell  my  bed  and  then 
bilk." 

They  tried  Wilkins'  door  in  vain,  and  rang  the 
bell  repeatedly  without  producing  the  least  effect. 
Apparently  others  had  done  the  same,  for  at  the  first 
tug  the  bell-pull  slid  out  about  six  inches  in  a  silent, 
uncanny,  unattached  manner. 

"That's  no  use,"  said  Billiam;  "let's  climb  up  on 
the  railings." 

"Ah!"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  had  mounted  him- 
self upon  the  area  railings,  whence  he  could  look  into 
the  room  of  Wilkins,  "there  is  my  bed  standing 
against  the  wall,  and  the  mattress  beside  it.  You 
see,  good  old  Wilkins  is  all  right.  It  is  a  first-rate 
bed ;  better  take  a  look  at  it,  for  it  is  all  you  will  see 
of  it  this  night." 

"Come  doon  oot  o'  that!"  commanded  a  stern 
voice.  "What  for  are  ye  loitering  wi'  intent  there 
for.    I'll  hae  to  tak'  ye  up." 

A  portly  policeman  was  standing  behind  them 
with  much  suspicion  on  his  face.  Billiam  turned 
himself  about  quietly. 

"John,"  he  said,  "I  wish  you  could  get  me  my  bed. 
I  lent  it  to  Peter  Wilkins,  and  his  door  is  locked." 


Billiam 


239 


"Guid  save  us !"  cried  the  policeman,  "it's  the  Dog 
Missionary.  Is  that  your  bed?"  he  added,  climbing 
up  beside  Billiam  and  looking  critically  at  the  object. 
The  rays  of  a  gas  lamp  upon  the  pavement  shone 
upon  it  so  that  it  glowed  with  a  kind  of  radiance  not 
its  own. 

"It  looks  a  guid  bed  eneuch!"  the  policeman  said 
as  he  climbed  down. 

"Can  you  not  get  it  for  us,  John?"  repeated 
Billiam. 

"Dod,  sir,  I  canna  do  that  withoot  hoose-breakin', 
an'  I've  been  thirty  years  in  the  force,"  answered 
John;  "but  there's  nae  doot  that  the  bed's  a  guid 
bed." 

And  with  that  he  walked  heavily  away. 

The  Hussar  stood  on  the  pavement  with  his  legs 
very  wide,  and  whistled  fitfully. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  propose  to  do 
about  it,  Billiam?  Say,  let's  both  go  to  a  hotel  and 
get  supper.    Then  we  can  stop  the  night  there." 

Billiam  looked  at  him  with  a  kind  of  sad  reproach 
in  his  eyes. 

"You  forget,"  he  answered,  "that  the  new  collie's 
bandages  must  be  changed,  and  the  little  Yorkshire 
will  need  looking  to  twice  or  thrice  during  the  night. 
But  you  can  go,  and  I'll  call  round  for  you  in  the 
morning  on  my  way  to  college." 


240  Love   Idylls 


"Get  out,  you  raving  young  idiot !  On  my  word, 
I've  heard  of  all  sorts  of  lunatics,  but  I'm  hanged  if 
I  ever  heard  of  anybody  before  gone  dotty  on  beastly 
stray  dogs." 

"And  there's  the  bull  with  the  bad  tear  on  his  jaw. 
I  must  see  that  the  stitches  are  keeping  and  give  him 
some  water,"  continued  Billiam  meditatively. 

"Of  all  the  fools !"  cried  the  Captain.  "Well,  come 
on,  Billiam,  I'll  be  your  keeper  to-night,  and  see  that 
you  get  a  neat  thing  in  strait-jackets  right  away." 

And  the  Hussar  strode  on  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  determines  to  see  a  desperate  venture  through 
to  the  bitter  end. 

They  came  in  time  to  the  corner  of  Montgomery 
Street,  and  again  mounted  up  the  crazy  stairs.  The 
fire  had  died  down,  and  when  Captain  Ormithwaite 
went  to  the  coal-box,  it  was  empty. 

"Hello,  Billiam,"  he  said,  "how  do  you  propose 
to  keep  us  warm  all  night.  Has  somebody  taken  out 
your  coals  on  loan  as  well  as  your  bed  ?" 

Billiam  threw  up  his  hands  again  with  the  same 
pathetic  little  gesture  of  despair. 

"I  don't  know  what  you'll  think  of  me,  Herbert," 
he  said,  "but  when  I  went  away  I  gave  all  I  had  to 
the  seamstress  next  door." 

"Well,"  said  the  Captain,  "go  and  see  if  she  can 


Billiam  241 


give  you  any  back."  But  at  the  suggestion  Billiam's 
pale  cheek  flushed. 

"I  can't  quite  do  that,"  he  said,  "but  I  think  I  can 
get  some.  You  wait  a  minute  and  I'll  run  down 
and  see." 

Then  Billiam  proceeded  to  array  himself  in  an  old 
ulster,  remarkably  wide  and  baggy  about  the  skirts. 
He  opened  it  and  showed  the  Hussar  how  ingeni- 
ously he  had  sewn  two  large  pockets  of  strong  can- 
vas to  each  side. 

"I  bring  home  the  coals  in  these,"  he  said ;  "isn't 
it  a  prime  idea  ?" 

"Where  do  you  buy  them?"  asked  the  Captain. 

"I  don't  usually  buy  them,"  answered  Billiam 
simply,  "I  pick  them !" 

"Pick  them  and  steal  them,"  said  Captain  Ormi- 
thwaite.  "You  young  beggar,  what  would  the  gov- 
ernor say  if  he  knew?" 

Billiam  looked  up  a  little  wearily,  as  if  the  sub- 
ject had  suddenly  grown  too  large  for  discussion. 

"I  shan't  be  very  long,"  he  said,  and  went  on  but- 
toning the  ulster  about  his  slim  young  body. 

"In  for  a  penny,  in  for  a  pound,"  said  the  soldier. 
"I'll  come  and  help  you  to  steal  coals,  if  I'm 
cashiered  for  it." 

Billiam  pointed  to  an  old  overcoat  which  hung 
upon  a  nail  behind  the  door. 


242  Love   Idylls 


"That's  got  pockets  for  coals  and  things,  too,  if 
you  really  want  to  come  along,"  he  said,  not  very 
hopefully;  "but  I  think  you  had  better  look  to  the 
collie  till  I  come  back." 

"I'm  on  it,"  said  the  Hussar;  "it's  my  night  out. 
Come  on !"  he  cried,  pulling  at  the  coat,  which 
threatened  to  turn  out  too  small  across  the  shoul- 
ders for  him. 

"What  a  rum  smell  it  has,  though  !"  he  added,  lift- 
ing up  one  of  the  lapels  and  sniffing  at  it. 

"Oh!"  said  Billiam,  "that's  only  the  dogs.  Some- 
times I  wrap  the  worst  cases  up  in  it.  But  it's  all 
right,  old  chap,"  he  added  hastily.  "I  always  dis- 
infect it  carefully." 

They  went  down  the  dimly-lighted  greasy  stairs 
without  meeting  a  soul.  When  they  arrived  at  the 
foot,  Billiam  turned  sharp  to  the  left,  and  the  Hussar 
found  himself  in  a  darkish  wide  lane,  in  which  were 
no  gas  lamps.  At  the  end  of  the  lane  was  a  great 
coal  station,  full  of  wagons  and  stacks  of  coal,  black 
and  shining,  dimly  seen  between  two  tall  gate-posts. 
The  latest  delivery  wagons  of  the  day  were  just 
leaving  the  yard  on  the  way  to  the  city  coal  stores, 
there  to  be  ready  for  the  morning  demand.  They 
rumbled  out  in  a  long  procession,  manned  by  men  as 
rough  and  grim  and  black  as  the  coal  they  worked 
among. 


Billiam  243 

The  coal  carters  kept  up  a  brisk  interchange  of 
compliments  with  one  another,  varying  this  by  an 
occasional  lump  of  coal.  Great  wedges  and  nuts  of 
it  were  also  being  jolted  continually  off  the  carts  as 
they  jostled  and  lurched  through  the  dark  and 
deeply-rutted  lane. 

"Come  on,"  said  Billiam. 

And  he  ran  off  among  the  grinding  wheels,  nip- 
ping up  every  piece  of  coal  which  lay  on  the  road, 
and  pushing  it  into  his  ulster  pockets  with  trained 
alacrity.  His  brother  endeavoured  to  imitate  him, 
but  he  was  unaccustomed  and  clumsy,  and  got  but 
few  pieces,  and  those  small.  It  was  interesting 
work,  however,  for  the  wagons  surged  and  roared 
like  a  maelstrom  between  the  high  walls  and  the  tall 
houses.  The  Hussar  found  that  it  needed  much 
quickness  to  seize  the  prey  and  bag  it,  evading, 
meanwhile,  the  succeeding  carts,  which  came  on  at  a 
pace  which  was  almost  a  brisk  trot. 

Presently  a  huge  coal  carter,  standing  up  on  his 
waggon,  caught  sight  of  the  Captain  lifting  a  piece 
of  coal  from  the  side  of  the  road.  He  sent  a  missile 
after  him,  which  took  effect  just  between  his  shoul- 
der-blades. 

"Get  oot  o'  that,  ye skulker  ye!"  he  shouted. 

Captain  Ormithwaite  of  the  1 10th  Hussars  sprang 
toward  his  assailant  to  take  him  by  the  throat;  but 


244  Love  Idylls 

the  watchful  Billiam  had  his  brother  promptly  by 
the  arm. 

"Mind  what  you  are  about!"  he  said.  "See;  stand 
in  there,  and  we'll  soon  get  enough  to  last  us  three 
or  four  days." 

The  brothers  took  shelter  in  a  cellar  doorway, 
both  of  them  grimed  to  the  eyes.  Billiam  produced 
a  hideous  mask  out  of  his  side  pocket,  and  put  it  on. 
Then  he  slid  off  the  doorstep  and  took  up  his  posi- 
tion on  a  little  mound  of  hard  trodden  earth  and 
engine  ash. 

"Ho !  Ha !"  he  cried.  "Ye  are  a  set  o'  dirty,  lazy 
Gilmerton  cairters!" 

Every  coalman  on  the  waggons  leaped  up  at  the 
word  as  if  he  had  been  stung,  and  the  rain  of  coal 
cobs  which  fell  about  Billiam  was  astonishing  and 
deadly ;  but  by  long  practice  he  evaded  every  one  of 
them,  letting  some  slip  past  him,  and  catching  the 
straight  ones  as  cleverly  as  ever  he  had  done  the  ball 
when  he  kept  wicket  on  the  green  playing  fields. 

Presently  the  Captain  found  Billiam,  now  a  very 
swollen  and  bulky  Billiam,  once  more  beside  him. 

"You  go  and  fill  up  at  the  back  of  the  mound 
where  I  was  guying  'em,"  he  said;  "there's  quite 
half  a  ton  there." 

And  very  obediently  the  Hussar  went,  with  a 
grim  delight  in  his  heart  to  think  of  the  fit  his  C.  O. 


Billiam  245 


would  have  if  he  could  only  have  seen  him.  Pres- 
ently he  had  filled  up,  and,  leaving  the  roar  of 
the  coal  avenue  for  the  quiet  of  the  house,  Billiam 
and  his  brother  slunk  laboriously  upstairs  to  their 
garret. 

"Lord!  shall  I  ever  be  clean  again?"  groaned  the 
Captain,  looking  at  his  hands.  "To  think  what  you 
have  led  an  officer  of  the  Queen  into — you  blessed 
young  gallows-bird,  Billiam !" 

"Empty  the  coals  here,"  commanded  Billiam;  and 
his  brother  poured  out  his  hoard  into  a  large  com- 
partment built  beside  the  window.  How  Billiam 
could  have  carried  so  great  a  load  was  a  puzzle,  but 
certainly  there  could  not  have  been  less  than  a  hun- 
dredweight of  coal  in  his  canvas  pockets  alone.  He 
hastened  to  fill  a  pot  with  water,  and  in  a  little  while 
he  had  a  shallow  bath  full  of  warm  water.  This  he 
set  out  in  a  corner,  behind  a  screen  made  of  a  grey 
sheet  which  hung  upon  a  cord. 

"Go  in  there,"  he  said,  "and  get  yourself  cleaned, 
you  horrible  Sybarite !" 

When  he  came  back  to  take  his  turn  at  the  bath, 
a  fresh  pot  full  of  water  was  ready,  and  the  room 
was  bright  and  warm.  The  Hussar  had  attended  to 
the  fire  and  had  swept  the  floor.  The  brothers  were 
in  the  inner  room  in  which  Billiam  usually  camped. 
There  was  a  sofa  in  it  now. 


246  Love   Idylls 


"I'll  toss  you  for  the  sofa,  young  'un,"  said  the 
Captain. 

"Right!"  said  Billiam  promptly.     "Tails!" 

"Heads  it  is!"  cried  the  Hussar  with  some  relief. 

"Glad  of  that,"  quoth  cheerful  Billiam.  "I  pre- 
fer the  floor  anyway.  You  can  make  quite  a  decent 
thing  out  of  rugs  and  overcoats.  And  besides,  sleep- 
ing on  the  floor  makes  you  so  jolly  glad  to  get  up  in 
the  morning." 

So  they  turned  in  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just. 
Billiam  was  up  by  daylight  and  had  a  cheerful  fire 
burning  when  his  brother  awoke.  He  brought  him  a 
cup  of  tea  and  told  him  to  roll  over  again.  But  the 
Captain  was  now  wide  awake  and  eager  for  talk. 

"Why  do  you  keep  on  at  this  kind  of  thing?"  he 
said,  "and  why  don't  you  buy  your  coals  like  an  or- 
dinary being?" 

"Well,"  said  Billiam,  "this  is  the  sort  of  thing  I 
take  to,  you  see.  It's  interesting  all  the  time.  I 
suck  in  oceans  of  learning  all  day  till  I'm  tight,  and 
then  I  practise  it  all  the  evening.  And  as  for  coals — 
well,  sometimes  I  do  buy  them.  But  £150  a  year 
doesn't  spread  far  in  rent,  classes,  and  victuals — 
not  to  speak  of  dressings  and  lint." 

"See  here,"  said  the  Captain,  "I  think  I  could  get 
over  the  governor  to  double  your  allowance.  I've 
been  pretty  light  on  him  lately,  and  he  thinks  me  a 


Billiam  247 


good  little  man.  If  I  do,  will  you  leave  off  pigging 
up  here  and  live  decent?" 

Billiam  seized  his  hand. 

"You  are  a  good  chap,  sure,"  he  said.  ''Try  it  on 
the  dad,  Heb!  I  could  get  proper  cubicles  for  the 
beasts  then,  an  operating  table,  and  perhaps  I  might 
even  afford  to  hire  a  yard." 

The  Captain  leaped  from  his  sofa  and  began  to 
pace  up  and  down  in  his  pajamas. 

"Of  all  the  fools  God  ever  made,  Billiam,  you  are 
the  most  confounded!  Why  in  creation  didn't  you 
settle  down  and  be  a  proper  parson,  if  you  wanted  to 
do  all  this  kind  of  thing?    It  makes  me  sick !" 

Billiam  looked  at  him  a  while  as  if  for  once  he 
would  try  to  explain.  But  the  hopelessness  of  the 
task  made  him  turn  away  sadly.  Nobody  ever  would 
understand.  He  must  just  go  on  and  on,  till  they 
put  him  in  a  lunatic  asylum. 

"See  here,"  he  said,  "better  put  on  your  clothes, 
Herbert.  You'll  be  sure  to  catch  cold,  prancing 
about  there  in  your  night  things.  And  you  don't 
look  pretty,"  he  added,  looking  at  him  critically. 

"But  why  wouldn't  you  be  a  parson,  Billiam? 
That  beats  me  dead.  You're  just  the  sort  of  soft 
chap  for  a  parson." 

"Stuff!"  said  Billiam;  "who  ever  heard  of  a  par- 
son just  for  splicing  up  dogs  and  cats  and  things? 


248  Love   Idylls 

There's  enough  of  the  other  kind  to  go  round, 
surely.  And  there's  only  one  of  Billiam  for  this  sort 
of  parsoning." 

"Well,  Billiam,"  said  Captain  Ormithwaite  a  little 
later,  "I'm  off  up  to  town.  This  is  all  very  well  for 
a  night,  but  a  little  more  of  it  would  kill  me.  I  de- 
clare I  shall  smell  doggy  and  chloratey  for  a  month. 
Here's  some  sinews  for  you,  Billiam.  It's  all  I  can 
spare." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Billiam,  pocketing  the  notes 
without  demur.  "I  may  be  the  prodigal  chap  in  the 
parable,  but  I'm  blowed  if  you  are  the  old  kind  of 
elder  brother,  the  fellow  who  would  not  go  in." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  Captain.  "Let  us  hear 
that  you  keep  ribald.  I  guess  you'll  slip  into  heaven 
ahead  of  some  of  the  parsons  yet,  Billiam." 

"It'll  be  when  Peter's  not  looking,  then,"  said 
Billiam,  shaking  his  head;  "but  if  they  do  nick  me  at 
the  gate,  why,  I  guess  there'll  always  be  plenty  for  a 
fellow  like  me  to  turn  his  hand  to  in  the  Other 
Place." 

[This  is  not,  however,  the  end  of  Billiam.  For 
there  was  a  seamstress  across  the  landing  who  se- 
riously interfered  with  his  plans.] 


VERNOR   THE   TRAITOR 

Being  the  Memoirs  of  Patrick  Vemor,  of  Iron  gray, 
zvritten  by  himself,  and  now  published  by  his  brother 
for  the  warning  of  others  alike  traitorous  and  malig- 
nant, and  for  the  encouragement  of  them  that  do  well. 

PART  I 

THE  OUTCAST 

I,  Patrick  Vernor  the  younger,  of  Irongray,  in 
Galloway,  now  private  in  Colonel  Douglas'  regiment 
of  Dragoons,  take  pen  in  hand  in  order  that  I  may 
write,  for  the  easing  of  my  heart,  the  story  of  a  life 
wherein  the  bitter  has  ever  lapped  over  the  sweet, 
the  evil  overflowed  the  good,  and  the  faint  visitings 
of  worthy  desire  been  blown  away  before  the  blasts 
of  pride  and  black  envy. 

I  mind  well  how  it  began.  It  was  the  day  on 
which  there  came  to  visit  us  that  best  of  ministers, 
good,  simple  Mr.  John  Welsh  of  Cluden.  He  hacj 
been  over  at  the  Scaur  preaching,  and  after  the  ser- 


250  Love   Idylls 

mon  and  the  scattering  of  the  folks — which  as  yet 
was  done  in  peace,  for  Clavers  had  not  then  settled 
himself  down  to  watch  the  Galloway  hill-folk  at  the 
bridge-end  of  Dumfries — the  minister  came  on  with 
my  father,  John  Vernor,  to  dine  at  our  house  of 
Irongray. 

On  the  way  he  held  converse  with  him  concerning 
duty  and  privilege. 

"  Ye  have  seven  sons,  John  Vernor ;  it  behoves  you 
to  give  one  of  them  to  the  Lord,"  said  Mr.  Welsh  to 
my  father.  "Ye  are  a  man  that,  so  far  as  the  times 
have  sped,  stand  as  yet  in  good  odour  with  them  that 
are  in  high  places.  You  are  a  man  of  substance. 
Well  can  you  afford  to  spend  some  of  your  living  on 
the  educating  of  one  of  your  lads  for  the  preaching  of 
the  Word.  Now,  I  have  come  so  far  to  tell  you  a 
thing  which  it  behoves  you  to  give  ear  to.  There  are 
four  youths  of  promise  who  are  going  by  ship  to 
Rotterdam,  on  their  way  to  the  College  of  Groningen 
— William  Gordon  of  Earlstoun,  a  lad  of  parts  and 
promise,  being  one  of  them.  Wherefore,  then,  having 
this  good  chance,  John  Vernor,  do  you  not  send  one 
of  yours  with  them,  to  skill  himself  in  the  humani- 
ties; and  afterward,  if  so  his  heart  incline,  to  be 
exercised  in  sound  divinity  by  Mr.  Brackel  of  Leeu- 
warden  and  the  other  great  divines  of  the  pure  re- 
formed kirk  of  Holland?" 


Vernor  the    Traitor  251 

And  my  father  lent  a  not  unwilling  attendance, 
and  considered  of  the  matter,  while  I,  who  had  been 
with  him  to  the  conventicle,  pricked  up  my  ears  and 
listened.  For  so  soon  as  I  had  heard  of  the  journey 
to  Holland,  I  was  smitten  with  very  great  desire 
to  go. 

It  was  not  that  I  had  any  great  call  to  the  preach- 
ing work — God  wot.  There  was  never  aught  of  that 
about  me.  But  (I  may  as  well  tell  it  out  soon  as 
syne),  there  was  a  lass  over  at  the  Torwood  that  I 
was  fairly  daft  upon.  She  had  so  twined  herself 
about  my  heart  that  in  her  presence  I  became  but  a 
little  wimpling  dog,  that  twists  itself  and  grovels  in 
the  dust  to  draw  its  mistress's  eye. 

Isobel  Weir  was  her  name,  and  a  sweet  maid  she 
was — bonny,  aye,  beyond  all  in  that  countryside,  and 
with  such  a  serene,  persuasive  way  with  her,  that 
there  was  nothing  she  would  have  asked  that  even 
a  heart  of  stone  could  have  refused.  I  loved  her 
more  than  all  this  world,  and  infinitely  more 
than  the  next.  But  me  she  would  say  no 
good  word  to.  For  I  had  the  name  of  a  wildish 
lad,  and  one  that  was  a  deal  better  at  the  sword-play 
than  at  the  seventeen  points  of  doctrine.  But  Isobel, 
as  became  a  daughter  of  the  Weirs  of  Torwood,  was 
a  true-blue  maid  of  the  Covenants.  And  many  was 
the  time  she  told  me  that  if  I  wanted  aught  of  her 


252  Love   Idylls 


favour,  I  must  company  with  those  who  sought  the 
good  way  of  her  folk,  and  shun  the  back-swording 
and  the  weapon-showings,  where  only  the  ill-exam- 
pled  and  the  unseemly  congregated. 

And  so  for  a  while,  to  the  infinite  weary  trial  of 
my  spirit,  I  did.  Yea,  for  the  sake  of  Isobel  Weir 
I  attended  the  conventicles,  and  kept  watch  and  ward 
for  the  coming  of  the  "persecutors"  over  the  moor. 
Also  sometimes  when  I  sat  near  her  my  heart  was 
glad,  and  methought  that  I  had  indeed  found  some- 
thing of  the  religion  of  which  my  father  and  one  or 
two  of  my  brothers  were  always  speaking.  But 
when  for  a  season  I  saw  Isobel  no  more,  and  Gib 
Affleck  or  Wat  Dickson  called  me  in  to  drink  a  tass 
of  brandy  with  them  at  the  change-house,  straight- 
way I  forgat.  So  I  was  counted  as  of  them  that 
backslid ;  and  when  Isobel  met  me  again,  she  looked 
the  other  way,  gave  me  her  hand  right  coldly,  and 
walked  with  Robert  my  younger  brother,  a  callow, 
fushionless  lad  that  never  did  wrong  openly  all  the 
days  of  him. 

So  now  on  this  afternoon  when  old  Mr.  Welsh 
came  over  with  my  father  to  Irongray,  and  I  heard 
him  speak  of  sending  one  of  us  to  the  college  in  Hol- 
land, there  came  on  me  a  great  desire  to  go.  More- 
over, I  felt  that  1  had  the  right  of  it,  for  was  I  not  the 
eldest  of  John  Vernor's  seven   sons?     Above  all, 


Vernor  the  Traitor  253 

I  knew  that  merely  shaping  at  the  leading-strings  of 
preacherdom  would  bring  me  favour  in  the  eyes  of 
Isobel  Weir.  And  already  I  saw  myself  saying  fare- 
well to  her,  and  asking  of  her  a  kindly  word,  and  it 
might  be  a  kiss,  before  I  went  for  the  good  cause  to 
a  foreign  land.  I  saw  her  eyes  lift  to  mine  with 
willingness  and  sweet  surrender  in  them.  Faith,  I 
would  have  gone  to  Holland  for  less,  had  it  been 
farther  than  the  moon  and  aswarm  with  cannibals. 

"I  would  see  your  sons,"  said  Mr.  Welsh,  after  he 
and  my  father  had  arrived  at  the  house  door,  "and 
then  there  may  come  a  message  and  a  sign  to  me 
which  of  them  the  Lord  has  chosen  for  this  work !" 

"Content!"  said  my  father.  "I  will  go  gather  the 
laddies  in,  that  you  may  see  whether  there  are  signs 
of  grace  about  any  of  them." 

Then,  setting  Mr.  Welsh  in  the  great  oak  chair 
by  the  window,  and  giving  him  the  Bible  to  divert 
himself  with,  my  father  went  to  the  barn-end,  and, 
making  a  trumpet  of  his  hands,  he  cried  a  far-heard 
cry  up  and  down  the  Cluden  water.  And  silent  Dun- 
can at  the  herding  on  the  hill  caught  it,  and  he  left 
his  ewes  in  the  charge  of  Tweed,  his  wise  dog,  to 
keep  them  from  breaking  bounds.  And  Gilbert,  the 
ready  of  speech,  hasted  up  from  the  meadow.  I 
could  see  his  scythe  glittering  as  he  set  it  against  the 
dyke,  for  he  had  casten  his  coat  and  to  the  work  as 


254  Love  Idylls 


soon  as  ever  he  came  back  from  the  field-preaching. 
And  the  rest,  my  brothers,  were  all  by  this  time  in 
the  little  ben  room — all  saving  Robert,  who  was  my 
youngest  brother,  and  of  little  account  amongst  us. 
For  his  mother  had  spoiled  him,  making  believe  that 
he  was  delicate,  and  must  not  be  stirred  to  rough 
work,  when  all  the  time  he  was  but  lazy  and  petted 
with  being  made  much  of,  as  the  youngest  of  a  house- 
hold often  is. 

"Where  is  Robert?"  said  my  father,  when  we  were 
all  settled  in  the  room  down  the  house. 

"I  ken  not  that,"  said  my  mother,  "but  I  will  go 
and  seek  him.  He  will  be  busy  with  his  learning  in 
some  corner,  doubtless." 

Then,  after  she  was  gone  out,  the  minister  asked 
which  amongst  us  most  desired  to  go  to  Holland,  and 
be  colleged  there  with  the  young  men  who  were 
about  to  set  sail.  Most  of  my  brothers  hung  down 
their  heads,  being  just  come  in  from  their  work  and 
having  heard  nothing  of  the  matter.  Besides,  some 
of  them  had  lasses  who  were  fond  of  them  in  the 
countryside,  and  that  made  a  great  difference  in  their 
eagerness  to  adventure  forth  of  the  realm. 

But  I  spoke  up  and  said:  "Mr.  Welsh,  I  am  the 
eldest  son  of  this  house,  and  if  any  ought  to  go  forth 
to  see  strange  lands  and  gather  lear,  it  is  surely  I. 
If  my  father  give  his  consent,  I  am  ready  to  set  sail 


Vernor  the  Traitor  255 

with  William  Gordon  and  the  rest.  And  I  will  strive 
every  way  to  do  your  bidding,  that  I  may  prove  no 
discredit  to  you  either  in  the  Low  Countries  or  on 
my  return.  My  father  knows  that  I  do  not  lie.  And 
this  I  promise  faithfully." 

Mr.  Welsh  turned  his  head  toward  me  as  I  spoke. 
He  had  beautiful  white  hair,  and  a  broad  collar  of 
fair  linen  came  down  over  his  coat. 

"Young  man,"  he  said,  "ye  speak  somewhat  car- 
nally, but  fairly.  What  ye  say  is  of  a  good  sound  so 
far  as  it  goes.  But  whether  ye  have  indeed  the  root 
of  the  matter  in  ye — that  I  know  not." 

"That,"  replied  I,  "I  know  not  either.  But  at  all 
events  I  have  the  will  and  desire  for  better  things  in 
me.  And  this,  as  I  see  it,  is  as  much  as  at  my  age  one 
may  expect.  I  will  e'en  go  to  Holland  to  learn 
more." 

But  my  father  shook  his  head. 

('Ye  are  better  foddering  the  horse,  Patrick,"  he 
said.  "I  fear  all  that  ye  would  learn  of  divinity  at 
Groningen  would  not  choke  a  week-old  chicken. 
Mind,  I  will  not  spend  my  good  undipped  siller  to 
let  you  play  your  plays  among  the  Dutch  birkies !" 

For  this  was  ever  his  manner  of  making  light  of 
me.  And  his  words  made  my  heart  bitter.  For,  had 
I  had  one  to  believe  in  me,  all  might  have  been  dif- 
ferent.    But  if  a  lad  be  flouted  at  home,  with  none 


256  Love   Idylls 

to  give  him  credit  for  good,  he  will  soon  seek  credit 
of  another  sort  elsewhere. 

At  this,  the  minister  looked  more  kindly,  me- 
thought,  at  me. 

"But  tell  me,"  he  asked,  "what  is  the  reason  that 
you  so  strongly  desire  to  proceed  overseas?" 

So  I  spoke  up  bluntly,  even  as  the  words  were 
given  to  me.  For  I  never  could  cloak  nor  gloze 
things  over  prettily. 

"I  am  weary  of  the  way  of  life  here — of  the  sta- 
bling of  horse  and  the  milking  of  kye.  I  would 
fain  lift  my  soul  above  the  mixen.  And  there  is  a 
lass  that  wants  me  to  gather  learning  over  the  water 
and  to  seek  out  the  better  way.  I  would  fain  do  both 
for  her  sake." 

"I  hear  no  word  of  a  leading  and  overruling  prov- 
idence in  this,"  said  my  father.  "I  am  not  surely  to 
pay  good  coined  siller  that  you  may  gain  a  lass's 
favour.  What  would  that  advantage  the  cause  of 
the  persecuted?" 

The  minister  raised  his  hand  and  gently  patted 
my  father  on  the  sleeve  of  his  coat. 

"Patience,  good  friend,"  he  said  :  "there  have  been 
stranger  things  than  this  that  have  yet  fallen  out. 
The  Lord's  bright  jewels  have  ofttimes  been  digged 
out  of  very  black  pits.  Remember  that  mighty  ser- 
vant of  the  Lord,  Mr.  Richard  Cameron,  who  was 


Vernor  the  Traitor  257 

brought  up  in  the  camp  of  the  enemy  and  served 
as  a  bishop's  schoolmaster  about  the  wicked  town 
of  Falkland  in  the  shire  of  Fife." 

But  just  then  came  in  my  mother  with  my  young 
brother  Robert  in  her  hand.  She  was  lifting  up  her 
eyes  and  making  a  mighty  phrase  about  something. 
We  could  hear  her  ere  she  came  within  the  outer 
door. 

"Such  a  marvel — a  direct  leading — even  a  prod- 
igy !"  she  cried.  "Here  when  I  went  out  to  find  this 
blessed  lad,  to  bring  him  in  to  the  man  of  God,  where 
think  ye  I  should  come  upon  him,  and  how  em- 
ployed?" 

"Maybe  in  the  milk-house,  talking  with  the  byre- 
lass,  and  eating  curds  with  his  fingers — that  was 
where  I  saw  him  last!"  said  I,  bitterly  enough.  For 
I  knew  what  would  happen  if  once  my  mother  got  her 
oar  into  the  water. 

"Silence,  sir !"  cried  my  father  to  me,  with  a  stamp 
of  his  foot. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Welsh !"  my  mother  went  on,  looking 
at  the  minister  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "this  is  he — 
this  is  indeed  the  chosen  vessel.  Believe  it  who  will 
of  one  so  young.  I  found  him  even  in  the  orchard 
under  the  tree  where  the  Burgundy  cherries  grow. 
He  kneeled  on  his  knees,  praying  very  preciously  for 
a  blessing  on  this  poor  Scotland." 


258  Love    Idylls 


"So,"  said  I,  as  drily  as  I  could,  "methinks  he  must 
have  gotten  a  glimpse  of  the  minister  coming  up  the 
loaning  before  he  set  to  his  petitions." 

"You  are  a  scoffer,  Patrick,"  said  my  mother, 
"and  will  come  to  no  good  end.  The  lad  was  at  his 
prayers,  and  among  other  things  I  heard  him  loud 
and  instant  that  the  sins  of  his  brothers  might  be 
forgiven  to  them,  and  especially  the  often  backslid- 
ing- of  this  Patrick,  who  now  takes  it  on  him  to  flout 
the  good  lad  for  it." 

"Wait  till  I  get  the  good  lad  out  of  hearing  of  the 
house.  I  will  make  him  send  up  some  few  other  peti- 
tions," I  said,  shutting  my  fists  for  anger.  But  I 
said  it  low  in  to  myself.  Aloud  I  said :  "My  broth- 
ers and  I  are  muckle  obliged  to  Robert  for  his 
prayers  for  our  backsliding.  It  is  well  there  is  some- 
thing that  he  can  do  besides  hang  to  his  mother's 
apron-strings  and  lie  about  dyke-backs.  He  never 
was  worth  his  kail  at  a  day's  work  in  his  life !" 

"The  lad  is  delicate  and  of  another  mind  from 
these  rough  lads,"  said  my  mother,  to  whom  Robert 
was  as  the  apple  of  her  eye.  "He  draws  naturally 
to  the  quieter  ways  of  the  house  and  the  company  of 
women-folk." 

"So,"  said  I,  again,  "then  he  will  make  a  brave 
preacher  to  the  hill-folk — he  must  thole  wind  and 
wet,  endure  hardness  cheerfully,  sleep  on  draggled 


Vernor  the   Traitor  259 

heather  roots,  and  die  at  the  last  in  the  Grassmarket 
with  a  tow  rope  round  his  neck  and  a  second-hand 
testimony  in  his  mouth." 

This  daunted  my  mother  a  little,  fearing  for  her 
petling. 

"Let  us  hear  what  the  lad  says  himself,"  said  the 
minister,  who  had  been  narrowing  his  eyes  and  bend- 
ing the  tips  of  his  fingers  together  upon  us  as  he 
looked  from  one  to  the  other.  I  could  see  that  his 
mood  was  one  of  deep  consideration.  Yet  the  loon 
Robert,  being  ever  the  favourite  of  my  parents,  so 
roused  my  spirit  to  a  very  gale  of  anger,  that  I  could 
not  restrain  my  tongue — though  I  well  knew  that  I 
was  playing  havoc  with  my  chances  of  going  to  Hol- 
land, as  I  so  greatly  desired  to  do.  Yet,  as  I  own, 
it  was  no  ways  for  love  of  sanctity,  but  all  for  the 
sake  of  winning  the  favour  of  Isobel  Weir,  and  also 
because  one  that  had  been  there  told  me  there  was 
much  gallant  sword-play  and  good  comradeship 
among  the  young  collegers  of  Groningen. 

Then  that  young  supper-of-sowens,  Robert  Ver- 
nor, answered  that  he  forgave  me  all  my  ill  words 
of  him,  because  that  I  knew  no  better,  and  spoke  but 
after  my  kind.  If  he  was  judged  worthy  he  was 
willing  to  go  to  Holland,  for  he  had  a  call  to  the 
work  and  no  fellowship  with  those  foul  talkers  and 
evil  livers  that  were  about  him  here  in  Irongray.    He 


260  Love   Idylls 


was  willing  to  give  up  all  and  adventure  forth,  if  the 
minister  and  his  father  and  mother  bade  him.  He 
had  been,  he  knew,  already  called  of  God.  So  he 
spoke  meekly  and  pitifully,  till  I  could  have  cast  him 
into  the  horse-pond  in  fair  disgust. 

"Oh !  the  blessed  lad !"  cried  my  mother.  "Pat- 
rick, there  is  a  lesson  for  you — with  your  flouting 
and  jeering.  Did  ye  hear  how  beautifully  he  forgave 
you  r 

The  minister  hung  a  while  on  Robert's  words.  At 
last  he  spoke. 

"I  suppose  the  youngest  will  have  to  go,"  he  said, 
"for  by  his  words  (at  least)  he  shows  much  more 
inclination  to  the  work.  And  his  parents  are  desir- 
ous to  send  him.  Yet  I  am  none  so  sure  but  that  that 
one"  (pointing  at  me)  "might  have  turned  out  the 
better  man,  if  his  carnal  nature  had  been  in  a  little 
better  subjection." 

"Ah!"  said  my  mother,  "it  is  my  Robert  that  has 
the  beautiful  nature.  Patrick  was  ever  proud  and 
upsetting  from  a  boy,  and  now  most  cruelly  over- 
rides the  lad.    It  will  be  better  to  separate  them." 

"Well,  since  it  must  be  so !"  said  the  minister ;  "yet 
I  fear  the  carnal  heart  within  me  leans  to  the  other." 

He  spake  as  a  man  that  knows  his  mind. 

But  at  this  the  devil  in  me  rose,  and  I  felt  that  in 
my  heart  which  I  must  speak  out. 


Vernor  the  Traitor  261 

"Wait,"  I  said.  "I  have  a  word  to  say.  Hear 
ye  all.  Ye  have  spoken  the  worst  things  of  me  that 
am  the  eldest  son  of  this  house.  They  that  brought 
me  into  being  have  proclaimed  my  faults.  They 
have  set  aside  my  urgent  desire — God  knows  all  I 
ever  asked  of  them.  They  have  made  me  of  none 
account — it  is  well.  Now  I  will  take  no  more  than 
the  clothes  I  wear  and  go  forth.  My  ten  years' 
labour  hath  at  least  earned  so  much  wages  as  a  suit 
of  grey  homespun  cleading.  I  bid  you  farewell. 
Father  and  mother,  I  leave  you  with  your  dear  son — 
your  perfect  son.  The  black  sheep  goes  forth,  lest 
his  foulness  should  corrupt  this  white,  immaculate 
lamb." 

"Go  then,  scoffer!"  cried  my  father,  "and  never 
cross  the  threshold  of  the  door — so  long,  at  least,  as 
the  house  of  Irongray  stands  by  the  waters  of  Clu- 
den,  and  John  Vernor  lives  to  be  the  master  of  it." 

But  my  mother  put  her  apron  to  her  eyes  and  wept 
aloud,  whereat  Robert  went  and  put  his  arms  about 
her  neck.  For  of  a  certainty  he  had  the  art  of  com- 
forting women-folk,  ever  phrasing  and  dandying 
about  them. 

"Do  not  weep,  sweet  mother,"  he  said;  "you  still 
have  one  loving  son  left." 

I  looked  over  at  Robert,  my  brother. 

"Pale  wart,"  said  I ;  "were  it  not  for  the  presence 


262  Love   Idylls 

of  those  whom  I  am  bound  to  respect,  I  would  even 
twist  thy  neck,  thou  young  hypocrite!" 

My  father  pointed  to  the  door. 

"Out  of  my  house,  sirrah !"  he  cried,  working  his 
brows  up  and  down  in  a  way  he  had  when  he  was 
sorely  angered. 

So  I  went  out  with  all  my  brothers  following  after 
me — Duncan  and  Gilbert  first,  and  after  them  John, 
Martin,  and  Sandy.  The  five  of  these  good  lads  said 
not  a  word,  but  came  out  at  my  heels,  hanging  their 
heads  and  looking  mighty  loath  and  sorrowful.  So 
Robert  was  left  in  the  room  by  himself  with  my 
father  and  mother  and  Mr.  Welsh,  the  minister.  And 
as  we  were  already  at  the  outer  door,  he  called 
to  me  in  his  silky-soft,  wheedling  voice : 

"Patrick,  do  not  part  in  anger,  my  brother.  Freely 
do  I  forgive  you  all  the  ill  words  ye  have  spoken  of 


me." 


But  I  turned  the  back  of  my  hand  to  him,  as  I 
stood  for  the  last  time  on  the  threshold  of  the  house 
of  my  fathers,  from  which  I  was  now  to  be  evermore 
on  outcast. 

"That  for  your  forgiveness!"  said  I.  "Keep  it  to 
cozen  older  fools  withal !  You  cannot  take  in  Pat- 
rick Vernor  with  your  sugared  lies!" 

******* 

So  from  the  house  of  Irongray,  where  I  was  born 


Vernor  the  Traitor  263 

and  which  I  had  counted  as  mine  own,  I  was  thus 
outlawed  and  extruded.  'Tis  easy  to  say  that  I  had 
but  mine  own  self  to  blame.  Had  I  bidden  more 
at  home  o'  nights  and  ever  been  in  at  the  "taking  of 
the  Book,"*  my  father  might  have  looked  more 
kindly  upon  me.  And  I  should,  maybe,  have  pleased 
my  mother  better  had  I  been  more  complaisant,  and 
made  pretence  to  a  little  religion  of  the  easily  carried 
kind  which  comes  out  in  asking  long  blessings  at 
meal-times  and  interlarding  a  sanctified  word  or  two 
in  common  speech — such  as :  "It'll  be  a  fine  day 
the  morn,  if  the  Lord  will,"  or,  "We'll  shear  the 
sheep  on  Monday,  gin  a  kind  Providence  spare  us!" 
For  many  is  the  sound  reputation  for  godliness 
which  has  been  built  on  just  as  little  as  that. 

But  I  never  had  the  art  to  guide  my  tongue  all  the 
days  of  me,  and  ofttimes,  alas !  I  have  permitted  it 
to  guide  me;  and  a  man  lands  surely  in  the  mire 
when  he  lets  his  unruly  evil  take  charge. 

At  all  events,  there  I  was  outside  the  door  of  my 
father's  house,  and  presently,  being  convoyed  on  my 
way  by  my  five  kindly  brothers,  whom  I  had  not  sus- 
pected of  so  much  tenderness  for  their  elder,  I  found 
myself  at  the  loaning  foot.  There  is  a  ford  near  by 
over  the  little  water  of  Cluden  and  a  crossing  of 

stepping-stones,  about  which  as  bairns  we  had  played 

*Family  worship. 


264  Love   Idylls 

the  day  by  the  length,  before  ever  we  heard  a  sound 
of  the  weary  Covenants  that  have  worked  so  muckle 
strife  in  this  land.  I  had  my  foot  on  the  first  stone 
when  Duncan  nudged  Gilbert  to  speak.  He  was  a 
fine,  solid  lad,  Duncan,  but  not  gleg  at  the  talking. 

"Duncan  wants  me  to  say,  Patie,"  said  Gilbert, 
taking  the  signal  reluctantly,  "that  we  are  heart 
sorry  for  this  cast  oot.  And  we  are  a'  vexed  for  ye, 
and  we  do  not  think  that  ye  have  been  rightly  used. 
But  ye  are  to  mind  that  the  Irongray  is  your  ain,  and 
we  will  work  it  for  you  as  the  rightful  heir.  There's 
nane  o'  us  that  are  Jacobs,  or  would  supplant  our 
brother.     Is  that  no  richt,  lads?" 

"Aye,"  gruffly  enough  responded  Duncan.  And 
the  others  also  said,  "Aye"  with  one  voice. 

"And  ye  are  no  to  do  onything  rash,  Patie,"  he 
went  on,  "for  we  have  here  some  pickle  siller  that 
we  had  laid  by  us.  It's  no  better  than  twenty  Scots 
pounds,  but  ye  are  welcome,  Patie  (stop  that 
whingein'  and  greetin',  Martin ;  think  shame  o'  your- 
sel',  man!).  And  ye  are  to  tak'  it  and  look  about 
ye  a  wee,  and  no  do  onything  rash  that  ye  would  be 
sorry  for  after,  like!" 

"Lads,"  I  answered  them,  slowly,  for  I  was  near 
overcome,  "I  canna  tak'  your  hard-won  siller.  Ye'll 
be  needing  new  plaids  and  bonnets,  and  I  ken  Duncan 
was  saving  for  a  Bible." 


Vernor  the  Traitor  265 

"It's  a  lee — I  wasna',"  said  Duncan. 

"Na,  na,  so  long  as  Patrick  Vernor  has  a  pair  of 
strong  hands,  the  world  will  no  come  greatly  wrong 
to  him.  Fare  ye  weel,  honest  lads.  See  and  humour 
my  faither,  gin  ye  can.  It  was  never  a  thing  I  was 
good  at  mysel'." 

So  I  shook  hands  with  them  all  five,  and  turned 
away.  I  could  hear  poor  Martin,  that  was  ever  a 
kenning  soft  in  the  heart,  break  into  a  passion  of 
tears,  at  which  Duncan  took  him  by  the  neck  of  his 
coat  to  shake  the  folly  out  of  him. 

"Have  ye  no  more  sense?"  he  said.  "Dinna  make 
it  harder  than  it  is  for  Patie." 

Ah,  good  lads,  kindly  lads — praise  God  for  five 
brothers  that  are  neither  time-servers  nor  hypo- 
crites ! 

But  it  was  at  the  kirk-stile,  as  I  went  by  the 
village,  that  I  got  the  heaviest  stroke.  For  there  I 
met  Isobel  Weir.  She  came  daintily  over,  lilting  at  a 
psalm,  and  putting  up  her  hand,  as  she  saw  me,  to 
the  blue  maiden's  snood  that  belted  her  yellow  hair. 

"You  are  bound  for  Holland,  I  hear,"  she  said ; 
"they  tell  me  that  Mr.  Welsh  has  gone  up  to  settle 
the  matter  with  your  father." 

"Not  I,"  I  made  answer,  gloomily  enough,  "but 
Robert,  my  brother,  goes  to  Holland  in  my  stead. 
He,  as  we  all  ken,  is  the  lad  of  grace  in  our  house- 


266  Love   Idylls 

hold,  and  keeps  himself  first  in  favour  with  the 
godly.  Who  can  contend  with  such  a  flower  of 
sanctity?" 

;'You  forget  yourself,  Patrick  Vernor,"  answered 
Isobel  Weir,  holding  up  her  head  severely;  "better 
would  it  be  for  you  to  be  likewise  in  favour  with 
things  honourable  and  great  with  godly  men.  Your 
brother  Robert  is  truly  a  lad  of  promise " 

"And  also  of  comeliness — a  very  young  David, 
with  his  love-locks  and  ruddy  cheeks,"  said  I  bitterly. 
"Well  am  I  aware  that  he  has  the  favour  of  all  you 
women,  and  specially  of  Isobel  Weir  of  the  Tor- 
wood." 

"And  though  he  hath,  what  is  that  to  you  ?  Patrick 
Vernor?"  the  girl  answered  me.  And  there  was  fire 
in  her  eye,  for  I  saw  that  she  had  taken  my  meaning 
but  too  well.  Now  all  my  days,  though  I  loved  her 
dear,  yet  had  I  never  any  power  to  please  her.  Nor 
were  my  words  ever  agreeable  to  her,  like  the  cun- 
ningly patient  smiles,  the  quick  observance  and 
deference,  of  Robert  my  brother. 

'Truly  it  is  nothing  to  me:  there  say  you  rightly, 
Isobel  Weir,"  I  said.  "If  you  had  loved  me  it  might 
have  mattered  more.  But  since  you  will  not,  why 
then,  there  is  no  more  to  the  business,  but  just  to 
shake  hands  and  part.  I  bid  you  farewell,  Isobel. 
It  is  a  long  day  since  I  carried  you  over  Cluden 


Vernor  the  Traitor  267 


water  on  my  back  and  ye  called  me  your  love,  being 
then  but  a  bairn.  I  bid  you  farewell,  for  when  next 
you  see  me  go  by,  it  is  little  that  you  or  any 
honest  lass  will  have  to  say  to  Patrick  Vernor." 

"What  would  you  do  to  yourself?"  she  asked — ■ 
looking,  as  I  thought,  a  little  dashed  at  my  bitter 
words  and  determined  air. 

"Faith,  I  go  to  Dumfries  to  take  the  king's  colours 
and  ride  merrily  a-trooping.  Since  they  will  not 
make  a  soldier  of  me  on  the  one  side,  what  better  can 
a  landless  and  kinless  loon  do  than  take  arms  on  the 
other?" 


268  Love   Idylls 


PART  II 


THE  LOVE  OF  ENEMIES 


With  that  I  waved  my  hand  to  Isobel  Weir,  the 
lass  I  would  have  loved  better  than  any  other  man, 
if  so  be  she  would  have  let  me.  For  I  saw  that  she 
would  not  even  shake  me  by  the  hand  for  old  sake's 
sake.    And  I  desired  to  save  her  the  pain  of  refusing. 

Now  let  all  men  judge  if  my  heart  was  not  full 
to  the  brim  of  dule  and  waefulness  that  day  as  I  went 
down  the  bonny  knowes  of  the  Cluden  side.  For, 
saving  the  brothers  whom  I  had  left  behind,  I  had 
not  a  friend  in  the  world.  And  when  the  heart  is 
sore  for  a  lass  and  her  fickleness,  it  is  not  the  love 
of  brothers  that  brings  much  solid  comfort.  I 
thought  chiefly  indeed  that  another  would  kiss  the 
lovely  mouth  I  had  longed  to  kiss,  and  I  felt  for  my 
knife  to  kill  him  for  it. 

By  the  Red  Yetts  I  heard  a  pitter-patter  on  the 
grass,  and  there,  running  behind  me,  was  my  dog 
Royal,  racing  from  side  to  side  of  the  way  and  smell- 
ing at  rabbit-holes  as  if  I  had  been  going  a  little 
dauner  to  see  the  lasses  in  the  gloaming.    I  bade  him 


Vernor  the  Traitor  269 

go  home,  but  he  did  nothing  but  sit  and  look  at  me, 
considering,  as  it  were,  with  his  wise  head  to  the  side. 
Nor  would  he  budge  an  inch  when  I  spoke  angrily, 
but  only  lay  and  cowered  his  head  between  his  paws 
so  meekly  that  I  could  not  beat  him  for  very  pity. 

So,  though  I  feared  that  they  would  not  abide  him 
at  the  quarters  of  the  Dragoons  in  Dumfries,  I  had 
perforce  to  let  him  follow  on.  And  indeed  he  abode 
with  me  ever  after,  and  is  even  now  with  the  regi- 
ment. 

When  I  came  to  Claverhouse's  lodging  I  went 
boldly  up  to  the  sentinel  and  demanded  of  him  to  see 
Cornet  Graham. 

"Ho,  Bluebonnet,"  cried  he,  "it  is  not  often  that 
a  Whig  comes  speering  for  that  name.  What  might 
you  want  of  him,  my  brave  Whiggie?" 

"An'  you  had  not  that  long  piece  in  your  hand 
with  the  pudding  pricker  at  the  end,  I  would  e'en 
show  you  to  whom  you  speak,"  said  I,  shutting  my 
fists ;  "but  an'  you  want  to  know,  I  come  to  enlist 
in  his  Majesty's  Dragoons." 

When  the  soldier  heard  that  his  mood  changed, 
and  very  good-naturedly  he  told  me  where  I  should 
find  Cornet  Graham,  who  had  charge  of  the  recruit- 
ing. To  him  I  went,  and  we  agreed  so  well  that  in 
an  hour  I  was  being  measured  for  my  accoutrement 
by  the  regimental  tailor. 


270  Love   Idylls 


Then,  when  for  the  first  time  Trooper  Patrick 
Vernor,  eldest  son  to  John  Vernor  of  Irongray,  rode 
out,  judge  ye  what  a  cry  there  was  in  all  the  country- 
side. Some  there  were  who  said  that  I  did  but  play 
the  old  game  of  "Heads,  I  win;  tails,  my  father 
does."  For  (said  they)  if  the  King  keeps  his  own, 
Irongray  is  safe  in  the  hands  of  that  good  sol- 
dier of  his  Majesty  and  of  Claverhouse's  Private 
Patrick  Vernor;  but  if  the  wild  Whigs  triumph  in 
their  Whiggery — why,  here  is  a  patriot  and  sufferer, 
John  Vernor,  restored  to  full  possession,  and,  in  ad- 
dition, all  his  fines  and  king's  dues  are  remitted. 

But  among  the  folk  of  the  hillside  and  the  field 
meeting  I  was  outcast  and  thrice  accursed.  For  soon 
after  my  enlisting  there  ensued  the  wildest  times  that 
we  had  ever  had  in  Galloway — sudden  marches  dur- 
ing the  night,  moorland  houses  searched,  half  a 
dozen  poor,  ignorant,  praying  lads  turned  out,  some 
to  get  their  quietus  at  the  dyke-back  with  a  charge  of 
powder  and  a  musket-bullet,  the  rest  to  go  string- 
ing away  to  Edinburgh  on  the  backs  of  sorry  nags, 
their  feet  tied  under  the  bellies  of  their  horses.  It 
was  weary  work,  and  in  my  own  country-side  I  liked 
it  ill  enough.  But  I  was  not  the  man  to  go  back ; 
and  indeed,  what,  when  all  was  said  and  done,  had 
I  to  go  back  to? 

Then  in  a  while  there  came  better  of  it.     For  the 


Vernor  the  Traitor  271 

folk  of  the  Covenant  began  to  gather  into  disciplined 
companies  and  make  a  stand.  And  then  what  riding- 
and  chasing  there  was  between  garrison  and  garrison 
— Colonel  Douglas  at  Morton  borrowing  troopers 
from  Captain  Bruce  of  Earlshall  at  Crichton  Peel, 
and  both  being  drawn  upon  by  John  Graham  of 
Claverhouse,  who  kept  at  Dumfries  the  head  bees' 
byke,  from  which  we  swarmed  out  in  all  directions 
to  win  honey  from  the  Whiggish  pastures  of  Gal- 
loway. 

So  we  went  on,  riding  and  killing,  till  it  happened 
that  we  lay,  one  day,  a  hot  Sabbath,  by  a  hillside, 
and  we  had  marched  all  night  to  take  the  Conven- 
ticlers  in  the  midst  of  their  preaching.  It  was  about 
the  noontide,  and  we  were  lying  idly  in  the  covert, 
with  our  horses  cropping  the  coarse,  lush  grasses  of 
the  little  forest  glades.  We  could  easily  hear  the 
sound  of  the  preacher's  voice  from  where  we  lay, 
and  by  crawling  to  the  edge  of  the  coppice  we  could 
see  him — a  tall,  thin  lad,  with  a  fresh  and  beautiful 
countenance. 

"I  declare,"  said  Sergeant  Driscoll,  below  his 
breath,  "if  I  had  not  seen  psalm-singing  Pat  there 
lying  on  his  belly  and  sucking  of  a  straw,  I  had 
thought  that  he  had  given  us  the  slip  and  gone  back 
to  his  old  business.  That  preacher  loon  is  the  very 
moral  of  him." 


272  Love   Idylls 

But  it  was  too  hot  there  in  the  wood  to  bandy 
words  with  a  cross-eyed  thief  of  the  King's  pet 
Irishry.  So  I  let  Driscoll  talk  on.  I  heeded  not  at 
all  what  he  said  concerning  the  preacher.  I  had  seen 
too  many  of  the  breed,  and,  barring  Ritchie  Cam- 
eron, who  had  the  heart  of  half  a  dozen  brave  men 
all  inside  of  his  one  body,  I  had  small  enough  liking 
for  them,  or  indeed  they  for  me.  Truth  to  tell,  they 
had  spurgawed  me  over  sorely  with  their  catechisms 
and  testimonies  when  I  was  young.  And  since  Isobel 
Weir  had  given  me  the  go-by,  I  had  looked  (God 
forgive  me)  at  more  than  one  along  the  shining  bar- 
rel of  a  King's  musket.  For  which  as  I  say,  may  the 
Lord  pardon  me.  For  I  but  carried  out  the  orders 
of  my  commander,  and,  like  a  soldier,  took  no 
account  of  the  rights  or  wrongs  of  the  matter. 

So  presently  it  was  time  for  us  to  drive  among 
them.  The  men  awaked  and  stretched  themselves. 
Then  they  leaped  up  from  their  beds  of  heather, 
looked  to  their  equipment,  and  secured  each  his  own 
charger.  The  Colonel  divided  us  into  two  parties, 
and  we  rode  out  of  the  wood  at  opposite  ends,  to 
take  the  Conventiclers  in  flank  and  rear. 

Here  and  there  we  could  see  a  sentinel  standing 
leaning  on  his  gun,  or  moodily  pacing  to  and  fro. 
But,  one  and  all,  they  were  paying  more  attention  to 
the  preacher  than  to  walking  about  Zion  and  felling 


Vernor  the  Traitor  273 

the  enemies  thereof.  At  all  events,  we  were  well  out 
of  the  wood  before  any  alarm  was  given.  But  when 
they  saw  us  come,  then  indeed  there  was  a  buzz  and 
a  stir  among  them  like  bees  swarming. 

Certain  of  the  stronger  and  more  determined  men 
drew  themselves  together  into  some  sort  of  disci- 
plined order  about  the  preacher.  But  the  most  part 
of  them  ran  every  way,  making  specially  towards  a 
large  wild  moss  with  many  quags  and  green  slimy 
morasses,  over  which  they  supposed  our  heavy 
horses  could  not  go. 

It  so  chanced  that  my  own  squadron,  with  Colonel 
Douglas  at  its  head,  was  the  first  to  reach  the  little 
band  of  the  fanaticals  that  stood  at  bay  about  the 
preacher.  As  we  came,  a  tall,  grey-headed  man 
among  them,  whom  for  the  press  I  could  not  see 
clearly,  gave  the  word  of  command,  and  they  fired 
irregularly  when  we  were  about  thirty  yards  from 
them.  I  saw  the  smoke  spring  white  as  it  had  been 
under  the  very  nose  of  my  horse.  At  my  elbow  Jock 
Cannon,  for  ordinary  my  rear  rank  man,  grunted, 
fell  forward  on  his  horse's  neck,  and  his  sword 
dropped  from  his  hand.  Looking  about  me,  I  could 
see  several  saddles  emptied,  but  whether  with  bullets 
that  wounded  or  that  killed,  I  knew  not.  So  there 
ran  the  word  along  the  line  of  our  charge  that  no 
prisoners  were  to  be  taken,  except  the  preacher,  on 


274  Love   Idylls 


whose  head  there  was  a  price.  And  in  a  moment  we 
were  among  them,  and  I  was  striking  down  the 
sword-blade  of  the  man  who  opposed  me — a  stont 
countryman,  who  had  a  cloak  wrapped  about  his 
left  arm  for  a  guard.  But  there  was  no  seeing  much, 
for  the  place  where  we  fought  was  in  a  hollow,  and 
what  with  the  lack  of  wind  and  the  much  firing,  all 
was  a  turmoil  and  a  confused  smother  of  the  blue 
reek  of  powder. 

Now,  mine  enemy  was  a  stout  lad  enough,  but 
with  his  heavy  blade  and  small  experience,  he  could 
not  hope  to  keep  it  up  with  an  exercised  soldier  of 
his  Majesty.  So  I  had  presently  his  sword  out  of 
his  hand,  and  was  just  about  to  cleave  him  to  the 
brisket,  when  my  gentleman,  instead  of  crying 
"Quarter!"  as  many  of  them  did,  leaped  at  me  with 
a  broad-bladed  dagger-knife  before  I  had  time  to 
shorten  grips  on  my  sword. 

And  then,  when  his  face  was  near  enough  mine 
to  see  clearly  through  the  smoke,  and  his  knife  within 
six  inches  of  my  buff  coat,  I  saw  who  he  was — mine 
own  brother  Duncan.  And  at  the  same  moment  he 
knew  me. 

"Patrick!"  he  cried,  and  let  his  knife  drop. 

"Lord  love  you — Duncan,"  I  said,  stopping  my 
horse.  "Get  out  of  this  as  fast  as  you  may.  Are 
there  any  more  of  the  Irongray  folk  among  them  ?" 


Vernor   the   Traitor  275 

"We  are  all  here  together,"  he  said,  "all  except 
Martin." 

The  tide  of  battle  had  somewhat  passed  us,  sweep- 
ing on  over  the  muir,  so  I  bade  him  slip  away  as 
quietly  as  he  might;  for  by  this  time  our  line  had 
broken,  as  was  usual,  into  a  great  number  of  separate 
combats.  So  it  was  with  little  difficulty  that  I  let 
Duncan  escape  through  my  fingers,  pretending  a 
misunderstanding  with  my  horse,  and  pursuing  after 
him  vainly  with  a  loud  outcry. 

When  I  returned,  I  found  that  the  skirmish  was 
over,  and  all  the  fanaticals  either  dead  or  captured. 

I  looked  carefully  at  the  former,  one  after  another. 
There  were  none  of  them  that  I  knew,  till  I  turned 
a  tall  man  lying  face  down  in  the  moss,  who  had  been 
slain  at  the  first  fire.  It  was  the  dead  body  of  my 
father,  John  Vernor  of  Irongray. 

Then  it  was  that  the  enormity  of  taking  part 
against  my  name  and  folk  was  first  fully  brought 
home  to  me.  For  mostly  I  had  loved  the  horseman- 
ship part  of  this  soldiering  business — the  clattering 
gaiety  of  the  march,  the  mustering  in  haste,  the  cool 
night  rides,  the  constant  change  of  quarters,  the 
thrilling  trump  of  battle,  and  the  companionship  of 
just  such  brisk,  heedless  lads  as  myself.  But  when  I 
saw  my  father's  dead  body  lying  there,  with  the  moss 
water  running  down  his  beard  and   mixing  itself 


276  Love   Idylls 


with  the  blood  from  his  deadly  wound,  the  black  side 
of  my  trade  came  over  me.  I  felt  like  the  murderer 
of  my  father  and  the  traitor  they  called  me  at  their 
Society  meetings. 

And  of  that  I  was  very  soon  to  be  remembered. 
For  we  had  taken  the  preacher  lad. 

"Sure,  'tis  Pat  Vernor's  self  we  have  caught  at  the 
conventicling,"  cried  Driscoll  the  Irishman;  "we 
will  even  make  him  deliver  himself  to  Satan  for  per- 
secuting the  saints,  and  then  shoot  himself  for  field- 
preaching." 

And  with  that  I  went  forward,  and  there,  with 
his  hands  tied  behind  his  back,  stood  the  conventicle 
preacher,  with  a  lass  clasping  him  about  the  neck 
and  the  soldiers  standing  a  little  way  off  waiting  for 
the  coming  of  the  Colonel. 

Now,  though  a  man  is  not  a  good  judge  of  his 
own  likeness,  I  could  not  but  see  that  this  man  was 
the  very  moral  of  me — hair,  eyes,  and  features — 
aye,  even  the  very  way  he  had  of  standing  with  his 
head  thrown  back  looking  over  the  lass's  shoulder 
with  a  kind  of  defiance. 

Presently  the  maid  raised  her  eyes,  as  it  had  been 
in  a  prayer  to  Heaven.  For  she  knew  well  that  it 
was  little  use  making  an  appeal  to  the  King's  troop- 
ers on  behalf  of  a  field  Conventicler. 

Then  I  saw  who  they  were  that  stood  before  me. 


Vernor  the  Traitor  277 

The  preacher  was  my  brother,  Robert  Vernor,  home 
from  Holland,  a  full-fledged  minister,  and  the  maid 
whose  arm  was  about  his  neck  was  Isobel  Weir. 

Presently  my  brother's  eyes  fell  on  me,  and  he 
started  like  one  who  sets  his  foot  on  a  thorn. 

"So,  Judas,"  he  cried,  "you  have  slain  your  father 
and  killed  your  brother !  God  shall  judge  thee,  thou 
wicked  man — thou  bloody  son.  Sorrow  shalt  thou 
sup  for  all  the  evil  thou  hast  wrought.  Patrick  Ver- 
nor, I  deliver  thee  to  the  judgment  of  Almighty  God 
for  this  your  deed." 

And  as  he  spoke  Isobel  Weir  turned  her  about 
and  looked  at  me,  as  one  would  at  a  very  demon  of 
cruelty,  so  that  my  heart  quailed  and  turned  sick 
within  me  at  the  glance.  And  even  then  she  kept  one 
arm  about  my  brother's  neck,  and  so  for  a  moment 
she  stood  gazing  at  me. 

"Traitor!"  she  said  at  last,  with  a  certain  slow, 
quiet  bitterness,  exceeding  hard  to  bear;  "slayer  of 
your  father  and  heart-breaker  of  your  mother — do 
not  stay  your  hand  till  you  have  taken  my  blood  and 
that  of  this  poor  lad.  He  is  your  youngest  brother, 
and  little  more  than  a  bairn.  But  that  will  make  it 
the  sweeter  to  you,  and  after  that  we  are  all  under 
clod,  then  you  may  rest  happy  at  last,  and  receive  the 
reward  of  your  brave  soldier  deeds  in  the  slaying  of 
women  and  children." 


278  Love   Idylls 

To  this  I  answered  no  word,  but  with  my  heart 
cankered  and  drowned  in  the  very  gall  of  bitterness 
I  stood  and  looked  at  the  two. 

Then  came  Colonel  Douglas,  and,  as  was  usual 
with  him,  his  orders  were  swift  and  stern. 

"How  now!"  he  said,  "what's  this?  Take  away 
the  lass — we  cannot  shoot  women.  Let  her  be  going 
to  her  own  folk — we  cannot  have  such  with  the 
troops.  And  bring  the  preacher  to  the  tolbooth  of 
Dumfries.  He  can  be  shot  in  the  morning.  But  for 
the  sake  of  the  five  hundred  marks  on  the  head  of 
him,  we  must  give  him  a  trial  and  get  the  due  certifi- 
cate for  his  death." 

So  they  gave  Isobel  Weir  leave  to  go,  and,  setting 
Robert  into  the  midst  of  the  company  on  a  masterless 
horse,  we  rode  into  Dumfries.  Douglas  stayed  be- 
hind to  direct  that  the  wounded  of  his  troops  should 
be  well  cared  for  in  the  neighbouring  farm-towns, 
and  to  leave  a  visiting  guard  to  see  that  they  were 
kindly  treated  bv  the  country  people,  who  had  indeed 
small  reason  to  love  us. 

And  as  we  rode  on  behind  my  brother,  I  had  time 
to  bethink  me.  The  words  of  Isobel  Weir  pressed 
hard  upon  me— harder,  as  I  think,  than  even  the 
sight  of  John  Vernor,  whom  T  had  seen  lying  dead 
on  the  moss.  For  T  never  greatly  loved  my  father, 
and  there  is,  so  far  as  I  have  seen,  no  great  instinct 


Vernor  the  Traitor  279 

of  affection  in  that  relationship.  For  I  find  that  as 
many  sons  hate  their  fathers  as  inordinately  love 
them,  while  most  are  wholly  indifferent  as  to  the 
matter. 

But  whenever  I  rode  within  earshot  of  the 
preacher,  he  was  crying  blood  and  vengeance  on  my 
head,  till  the  lads  of  the  escort  fell  to  the  laughing. 

"Come  nearer,  Pat,"  they  called,  when  we  were 
out  of  hearing  of  the  commander ;  "he  has  just  taken 
a  new  text  and  is  expounding  your  iniquities  under 
the  head  of 'fifthly.'" 

But  God  knows  it  was  no  such  laughing  matter 
to  me.  For  all  the  months  and  years  of  recklessness 
and  all  the  riding  and  killing  came  back,  salt  and 
bitter  on  me.  And  my  anger  and  estrangement  at 
them  of  Irongray  melted  away.  I  minded  only  the 
early  days  and  the  still  Sabbath  morns  at  the  old 
house — my  mother  sitting  smelling  at  a  spray  of 
southernwood,  and  my  father  standing  by  her  with 
his  Bible  under  his  arm,  both  of  them  waiting  to 
take  me  by  the  hand  and  go  our  ways  down  the 
green  loan,  under  the  lilac  bushes  of  the  spring,  to 
the  kirk  of  Irongray. 

"Ah,  God !"  I  cried  in  my  misery,  "keep  any  other 
poor  soul  from  so  going  against  his  folk.  For  me 
there  is,  I  know,  no  forgiveness.  But  let  none  other 
in  blind  pride  of  heart  drive  devilward  as  I  have 


280  Love  Idylls 

done.       It  is  true — true  what  the  lad  Robert  says — 
my  father's  blood  is  on  my  head !" 

So  in  this  blank  despair  we  came  to  the  prison, 
and  the  commander  directed  the  jailer  to  put  Robert 
in  the  thieves'  hole  for  safety,  and  not  into  the  gen- 
eral room,  wherein  debtors,  ordinary  sorners,  and 
all  the  scourings  of  south-country  rascaldom  were 
put. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  as  soon  as  Colonel 
Douglas  had  supped,  he  went  over  to  call  upon  his 
crony  Robert  Grier  of  Lag,  who  abode  mostly  by 
the  White  Horse,  at  the  foot  of  the  Vennel ;  and  hav- 
ing sent  for  the  Provost  of  the  town  and  also  for 
a  guard  to  bring  the  prisoner,  they  proceeded  to  try 
Robert  Vernor.  It  was  a  simple  form,  for  the  lad 
had  gotten  some  iron  in  his  blood  over  in  Holland 
and  denied  nothing.  He  owned  that  he  had  been 
preaching  the  doctrine  of  resistance.  He  would 
have  none  of  the  Test.  He  owned  not  His  Majesty 
King  Charles.  The  Duke  was  the  devil  incarnate; 
in  each  of  his  first  half-dozen  statements  there  was 
enough  to  hang  a  parish. 

"It  is  well  said,"  cried  Douglas ;  "you  are  a  manful 
laddie,  and  come,  I  hear,  of  good  blood.  Thou  shalt 
have  the  estate,  Robin  Grier,"  he  said,  turning  to 
Lag.     "It  lies  contiguous  to  your  own  properties 


Vernor  the    Traitor  281 

and  policies — for  the  old  man  Vernor  is  killed  in  the 
skirmish." 

But  at  this  I  stepped  forward  and  saluted. 

"May  it  please  your  excellencies,"  said  I,  "I  have 
ever  been  a  faithful  soldier  of  His  Majesty's.  I  have 
now  served  with  the  colours  four  years  with  hon- 
our as  a  private  of  His  Majesty's  Dragoons.  I  am 
the  eldest  son  of  Vernor  of  Irongray.  There  is  surely 
no  reason  why  his  estates  should  be  forfeit,  or  that 
my  patrimony  should  be  taken  away  from  me." 

At  this  Grier  of  Lag  looked  sour  and  strange; 
but  Colonel  Douglas  beat  upon  the  table  with  his 
hand. 

"It  is  true — and  Pat  is  a  good  lad — I  will  not  see 
him  wronged.  I  myself  will  write  of  this  matter  to 
the  council." 

So  he  bade  them  to  take  Robert  Vernor  back  to  the 
prison,  and  there  shoot  him  instead  of  hanging  him. 
And  this  was  counted  a  great  favour. 

"To-morrow,  at  the  rising  of  the  sun,"  said 
Douglas. 

And  so  they  took  my  brother  out. 

"May  it  please  you,"  said  I  to  those  of  the  court, 
"that  I  may  be  permitted  free  access  to  my  brother 
during  these  his  last  hours.  For  there  is  much  to 
arrange  between  him  and  Andro  Gibson,  my  late 
father's  lawyer." 


282  Love   Idylls 

"God  wot,  yes — an'  it  liketh  you — go  in  and  bide 
with  him  till  he  gets  the  garments  for  his  martyr- 
dom," said  Douglas.  I  had  not  known  you  were 
so  fond  of  your  kith  and  kin." 

So  he  wrote  me  a  pass.  For  the  prison  was  held 
by  a  guard  of  the  foot  from  Tarbat's  country, 
ignorant  landwardmen  from  the  North,  who  had  no 
knowledge  of  us  of  the  Dragoons  and,  indeed,  no 
goodwill  to  our  colours. 

So  I  went  away  and  groomed  my  horse,  but  had 
no  stomach  for  supper.  Then  I  walked  a  while  on 
the  banks  of  the  river  on  the  Galloway  side  of  the 
bridge.  And  as  I  walked,  I  tried  to  pray,  but  the 
words  would  not  come.  I  thought  of  Isobel  Weir 
and  her  curse  of  me.  So  an  hour  ago  I  came  away  in 
hither  to  my  quarters,  and  am  now  set  down  to  add 
a  few  words  to  this  story  of  my  worthless  and  wasted 
life.  God  knows  there  is  nothing  I  can  say  or  do  to 
obtain  forgiveness,  for  Isobel's  curse  lies  justly  upon 
me.  My  father  and  her  lover  will  both  be  cold 
corpses  by  the  morning. 

I  know  there  is  the  way  of  the  Scripture — the 
preacher's  way.  And  as  I  sit  and  think  the  old  words 
come  back :  repentance  —  forgiveness  —  mercy  — 
"Come  unto  Me.  all  ye  that  labour" — how  run  the 
words?  But  all  these  matter  little  to  me  now.  They 
were  not  meant  for  a  traitor  and  a  parricide.     Be- 


Vernor   the  Traitor  283 

sides,  what  are  words  out  of  a  book?  I  would 
give  something  to  cover  my  father's  face  from  my 
sight. 

Yet  there  is  a  text  something  about  shedding  of 
blood — if  only  I  could  remember  it.  I  heard  a  min- 
ister once  preach  upon  it,  and  thought  him  weari- 
some.   Would  that  I  could  remember  it  now ! 

I  have  it.  Quite  suddenly  it  has  leaped  clear  into 
my  mind,  shining  in  letters  of  fire,  like  that  writing 
on  the  wall  as  the  king's  feast  in  the  Book  of  Daniel. 

"Without  shedding  of  blood  there  is  no  remission 
of  sin."    Surely  it  runs  something  like  that. 

It  has  come  to  me.  I  see  a  possible  chance.  I 
will  at  least  go  and  speak  with  my  brother.  I  have 
the  Colonel's  pass  in  my  pocket. 

*<%^  ^t*  xi*  j^  %i^  j* 

*J*-  *^  *rx  ^^  ^K  ^^ 

It  is  all  done  now,  save  one  thing,  and  I  may  add 
a  word  or  two  to  my  paper  ere  the  sun  rise  and  they 
come  knocking  at  my  door.  I  passed  the  guard  with 
my  mandate.  They  were  drinking  and  carousing 
— the  jailer  with  them.  My  brother  received  me 
with  cursings  and  hateful  words — as,  indeed,  was 
his  right.  But  I  told  him  the  thing  that  I  had  come 
to  do.  I  bade  him  put  on  my  clothes  and  uniform, 
and  give  me  his  clothing  in  exchange.  He  could 
then  pass  freely  with  the  order  which  was  in  my 


284  Love   Idylls 


hand,  for  none  would  be  at  the  shooting  that  knew 
me — for  our  Dragoons  of  Douglas'  regiment  were 
to  march  at  midnight  for  Galloway. 

"But  mark,"  I  said,  "this  is  not  for  your  own  sake, 
Robert  Vernor,  nor  yet  because  you  are  my  brother. 
It  is  for  the  sake  of  the  lass  that  put  her  arm  about 
your  neck — even  for  the  sake  of  Isobel  Weir.  I  pray 
you  tell  her  this." 

"It  shall  be  done,"  said  he,  in  the  smooth  way 
which  I  have  ever  hated  and  hate  now,  for  his  tone 
changed  whenever  he  knew  that  there  was  a  chance 
of  safety. 

"And  you,"  he  said,  "what  will  you  do?" 
"I  will  abide  the  morning — and  the  opening  of  the 
doors,"  said  I,  as  lightly  as  I  could. 

"And  they  will  find  you  in  preacher's  clothes !"  he 
said.  "Ah,  well,  I  suppose  they  have  found  you  too 
good  a  tool  to  punish  you  very  severely  for  helping 
a  poor  field-preacher  and  your  own  brother  to 
escape." 

"Likely  enough,"  said  I  shortly. 
And  when  he  stood  up  in  the  regimental  dress, 
and  when  I  had  done  the  sword  and  the  spurs  upon 
him  and  put  the  cloak  about  him,  he  looked  none  so 
ill  a  soldier,  though  not  well  set  up  about  the  shoul- 
ders. 

I  pushed  him  to  the  door  and  heard  him  tramp 


Vernor   the   Traitor  285 

into  the  outer  hall,  where  the  Northern  men  sat  sing- 
ing and  carousing  with  the  jailer. 

"Never  mind  your  pass — we've  seen  it  before. 
Open  the  door,  Jock !"  cried  the  jailer,  never  looking 
up  from  the  dice,  and,  as  I  well  understood,  with  his 
greedy  eyes  fixed  on  the  stakes.  Then  I  heard  my 
brother's  step  die  down  the  street  towards  the  bridge- 
end  and  liberty. 

%  %  %  %  +  :fc  5Jc 

So  here  I  sit.  Will  they  pardon  me  for  this  ?  For 
the  sake  of  four  years  of  service.  Will  John  Graham 
overlook  this  connivance  at  rebellion?  But  what 
matter,  after  all — Isobel  Weir's  curse  is  on  me.  She 
would  not  take  it  off,  even  if  I  lived  to  be  a  hundred, 
and  released  to  her  a  score  of  lovers. 

But  there  is  the  text.  There  may  be  something 
in  that.  "Without  shedding  of  blood  there  is  no 
remission."  Therefore  in  the  shedding  of  blood  there 
is  remission — that  seems  clear.  God  help  me!  I 
think  I  can  do  no  better.  The  east  is  brightening. 
They  will  be  coming  for  me — they  are  lads  of  Tar- 
bat's  regiment,  who  know  me  not.  It  is  not  a  long 
death.  I  have  seen  many  die.  "Make  you  ready! 
Present !  Fire !"  Half-a-dozen  bullets  splash  on  the 
wall,  but,  thank  God!  the  other  six  will  be  in  my 
sinful  heart. 

"Without  shedding  of  blood " 


286  Love   Idylls 

I  can  hear  them  coming.     May  God  forgive  me 

— and  Isobel  Weir!     I  must  hide  the  paper. 
******* 

(Postscript  to  the  Memoir  of  Vcrnor  the  Traitor, 
written  by  the  Reverend  Robert  Vcrnor,  his  brother, 
after  the  glorious  Revolution.) 

This  paper  and  declaration  of  my  elder  brother 
was  found  in  a  wall-press  in  the  Thieves'  Hole  of 
Dumfries,  when  it  was  pulled  down  by  the  order  of 
the  magistrates  at  the  time  when  a  more  commodious 
and  suitable  prison  was  being  erected.  It  purports 
to  have  been  written  by  the  hand  of  Patrick  Vernor, 
who  of  a  certainty  aided  me  to  escape  from  the  hands 
of  my  cruel  enemies.  He  was  my  brother.  I  judge 
him  not.  He  has  been  for  many  years  in  his  own 
place.  There  are  those  who  think  well  of  him  for 
the  manner  of  his  death,  and  indeed  I  myself  am 
grateful,  and  also  my  wife,  Isobel,  though  she  never 
names  his  name. 

Yet  what  hope  can  any  have  of  his  salvation  when 
it  is  well  known  that  he  died  with  a  lie  upon  his  lips 
— yea,  even  with  blasphemy?  For  those  that  saw 
him  put  to  death  by  the  bullets  of  Tarbat's  footmen 
declare  that  when  some  of  them  taunted  him  that  he 
was  a  dumb  dog  and  died  without  a  testimony,  he 
cried  out  these  words  : 

"Sons  of  dogs,  ye  lie!"  (that  was  the  expression 


Vernor  the  Traitor  287 

he  used).  "I  have  a  testimony.  And  it  is  this: 
'Without  shedding  of  blood  there  is  no  remission  of 
sins.'  Tell  Isobel  Weir  I  died  for  her.  God  have 
mercy  on  my  soul !" 

.  So,  with  no  more  said,  the  officer  gave  the  word. 
And  thus  was  a  wicked  man  cut  off  ere  he  had  lived 
half  his  days ;  as  sayeth  the  Scriptures :  "But  the 
horn  of  the  righteous  shall  be  exalted." 


THAT   POPISH    PARSON 
FELLOW 

"Na,  na,"  said  Muckle  Rob  as  he  led  the  way 
from  the  quoiting-green,  where  he  had  stopped  the 
game,  "Na,  I  dinna  haud  wi'  the  Papishes — nor  yet 
wi'  the  Englishers.  And  I  wadna  advise  ony  ane 
o'  ye  to  say  that  I  do.  But  that's  nae  reason  for 
you  to  disturb  the  lad's  bit  service  wi'  your  sweerin' 
an'  the  jingling  o'  your  quoits!" 

The  miner  folk  of  Lochfinny  were  not  specially 
inclined  to  religion  at  any  time.  As  Muckle  Rob 
would  have  said,  "they  werena  juist  broadened  on 
it."  But  no  men  in  Scotland  had  a  clearer  sense 
of  what  was  the  right  and  chivalrous  thing  to  do. 

But  the  new  English  "priest"  with  his  daily 
services  and  early  communion,  his  incense  pot  and 
acolyte,  his  Fridays  for  confession  and  his  out- 
spoken contempt  for  their  own  quiet  steady-going 
Presbyterian  ministers,  was  certainly  more  than  a 
little  hard  to  bear.  There  had  indeed  been  for  a 
long  time  a  "Catholic   Chaypel"   cowering  back 


290  Love   Idylls 


among  the  out-houses  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the 
village.  But  as  Muckle  Rob  said,  "Frae  oot-an'- 
oot  Papishes,  ye  kenned  what  to  expec' !  So  ye 
looked  for  nae  better!" 

It  was  therefore,  considered  as,  at  the  worst,  a 
sort  of  half-deserved  jest  that  the  Lochfmny  quoit- 
ing  club  should  have  started  four  of  its  youngest 
and  noisiest  rinks  on  a  vacant  piece  of  ground  just 
outside  the  new  enclosure  of  the  Englishers.  Eu- 
gene Challoner,  priest  of  the  mission  church  of 
Saint  Ethelreda  the  Less,  celebrated  Evensong  at 
the  hour  when  the  game  was  apt  to  be  briskest. 
And  the  gravity  of  the  choir-boys,  and  even  of  the 
acolyte  (who  for  many  reasons  had  a  bad  time  of  it 
outside,  till  the  parson  made  him  his  gardener  and 
bell-ringer),  was  liable  to  be  upset  by  the  jests  of 
Wull  Sproat,  the  champion  of  the  village;  while 
the  solemnity  of  the  observances  was  not  improved 
by  the  "language"  of  the  "shankers"  who  were 
sinking  the  shaft  of  a  new  pit.  The  settled  miners 
looked  down  a  little  upon  these  shankers  as  wild 
asses,  who  are  here  to-day  and  away  to  another  job 
to-morrow.  But  they  make  "big  money,"  and 
expected  the  license  of  a  cavalry  colonel  as  to 
language. 

The  Reverend  Eustace  had  indeed  protested,  first 
mildly  and  then  vehemently,  over  the  wire  fence. 


That   Popish   Parson   Fellow        291 

But  Tarn  Galletly  and  Pate  Miller,  young  and  ill- 
set  loons  both  of  them,  had  stood  at  the  rink  end, 
and,  as  the  village  put  it,  "had  set  up  a'  manner  o' 
lip  an'  back-talk  to  the  man  in  the  white  sark." 
The  village  did  not  indeed  entirely  approve.  It 
considered  that  "there  was  nae  need  for  the  like 
o'  that."  But  no  active  measures  of  prevention 
were  taken  till  Muckle  Rob  came  home.  It  was 
currently  reported  that  Rob  could  lick  any  two 
men  in  the  village  with  one  hand  tied  behind  his 
back.  It  is  not  clear  that  this  particular  wager  of 
battle  was  ever  brought  to  an  issue;  but  the  fact 
that  with  his  two  hands  normally  free  Rob  could 
handle  a  large  proportion  of  the  male  population 
of  the  village  to  their  damage,  was  sufficient  to  give 
the  weight  of  a  full  bench  of  judges  to  his  slightest 
utterances. 

Muckle  Rob  had  been  away  on  a  visit  to  a  place 
"in  the  Lowdons,"  where  there  was  a  good  job, 
and  had  just  returned  at  the  end  of  his  contract 
with  full  pockets  and  an  air  of  prosperity  which 
in  any  other  person  would  have  been  considered 
exceedingly  offensive. 

When  any  of  the  inhabitants  went  upon  a  jaunt, 
it  always  took  a  day  to  accustom  them  to  Loch- 
finny  upon  their  return,  so  Rob  took  the  time  out 
in  a  tour  of  inspection.     He  heard  that  Andrew 


292  Love   Idylls 

Grieve  was  lying  up  again  and  sending  out  his  wife 
to  do  washing.  So  he  called  on  Andrew  and  swore 
by  the  powers  above  and  below  that  he  would 
break  every  bone  in  his  body  if  he  was  not  found 
working  on  the  "face"  by  the  first  shift  to-morrow. 
Andrew  complained  of  a  pain  in  the  sma'  of  his 
back. 

"The  pain  will  be  in  the  braid  o'  your  back,  gin 
ye  are  no  forrit  wi'  your  tools  as  soon  as  the  lave 
o'  us  the  morn !"  said  Rob,  as  he  slouched  out  with 
elbows  very  wide  of  his  sides,  in  the  position  in 
which  he  held  them  when  he  was  making  ready  for 
a  fight. 

Towards  sundown  Rob,  in  his  comprehensive 
survey  of  Lochfinny,  arrived  at  the  new  quoiting- 
green.  He  leaned  his  arms  on  a  dyke  and  attended 
to  the  points  of  the  game  with  the  air  of  a  past 
master.  Tarn  Galletly  was  ringing  in  the  clanking 
disks,  each  fair  on  the  pin.  Then  Pate  Miller  with 
his  next  quoit  would  "raise  him  oot  o'  that !"  It 
was  a  fine  level  game,  point  about,  and  evens  be- 
tween times.  At  least  twenty  miners,  mostly 
shankers,  were  cheering  on  their  favourites,  and 
the  noise  was  like  a  menagerie  at  the  time  of 
feeding. 

But  through  the  uproar  there  stole  to  the  ears 
of    Muckle    Rob    an    unwonted    sound.     It    was 


That   Popish   Parson   Fellow        293 

music,  and  there  was  something  solemn  about  it — 
as  Rob  thought,  like  the  first  psalm  on  Communion 
Sabbath.  He  heard  it  only  faintly  through  the 
quieter  blinks  of  the  roaring  quoiters.  The  high 
clear  voices  of  boys  steadied  and  weighed  by  one 
deep  bass.  The  sound  came  through  the  windows 
of  the  "Englishy  chaypel"  beside  the  rinks. 

"What's  that?"  queried  Muckle  Rob,  suddenly, 
like  a  dog  as  it  pricks  its  ears,  and  Gilbert  Grey, 
commonly  called  "Pow-head  Gibby,"  explained  the 
matter  to  him,  with  many  chuckles  and  bursts  of 
open  laughter.  But  curiously  enough  Muckle 
Rob  did  not  laugh  at  all.  He  was  indeed  more 
than  ordinarily  grave  as  he  listened,  so  that  Gibby 
wondered,  after  all,  he  had  not  got  his  pay  for  the 
contract  "over  the  water." 

At  the  end  of  the  story  Muckle  Rob  said  never 
a  word.  But  he  slowly  took  his  arms  off  the  dyke 
and  stepped  over  into  the  field.  He  strode  forward 
towards  the  rinks  as  if  more  closely  to  inspect  the 
game.  The  players  made  haste  to  welcome  so 
mighty  a  champion,  but  Rob  went  solemnly  to  the 
tee,  and  kicked  out  the  steel  pins  at  the  end  of  the 
rink  to  the  back  of  which  the  signal  paper  was 
tucked.  He  sent  the  quoits  spinning  on  their  rims 
into  the  distant  hedge.  He  took  Tarn  Galletly 
and   Pate   Miller  by  the   cuff  of  the  neck,   and, 


294  Love   Idylls 


knocking  their  heads  together,  he  marched  them 
off  the  field. 

"Deil's  buckies!"  said  he,  between  every  shake, 
"hae  ye  no  the  hale  green  to  play  on,  that  ye  maun 
come  here  to  raise  a  disturbance?     I'll  learn  ye!" 

It  was  not  often  that  Muckle  Rob  took  so  active 
a  hand  in  matters  ecclesiastical;  and  while  nobody 
dared  to  contradict  him,  all  were  naturally  anxious 
to  come  at  the  explanation  of  the  matter. 

"What's  ta'en  ye,  Rab,  since  ye  gaed  awa?" 
asked  one  of  his  mates.  "Ye  used  to  be  sair  again 
the  Papes?     Hae  ye  turned  your  coat?" 

"Na,"  said  Rob,  "I  hae  neither  turned  Pape  nor 
yet  Methody  in  my  auld  age,  but  for  a'  that  I'm 
tellin'  ye  that  the  man  who  meddles  wi'  the  Eng- 
lish)- chiel  will  ken  the  smell  o'  my  five  knuckles !" 

There  was  a  respectful  silence.  Several  had 
tried  the  perfume  mentioned  but  had  misliked  it. 

"Come  your  ways  to  the  wood  end  an'  I'll  tell  ye 
the  tale,"  said  Rob,  in  a  more  persuasive  manner, 
as  one  who  is  conscious  that  he  has  hardly  done 
justice  to  the  softer  emotions. 

"Noo,  hearken,"  said  Muckle  Rob,  when  all  the 
company  had  subsided  into  the  convenient  posture 
of  attention  known  as  "hunkering,"  "an'  when  I 
hae  dune  ye'll  agree  on  a  new  quoitin'-green.  Or 
else — Weel,  we'll  'gree  on  a  new  quoitin'-green!" 


That   Popish   Parson   Fellow        295 

"It  was  my  wee  Airchie,  him  that  was  ta'en  last 
year  when  he  was  thirteen.  Ye  maybe  mind  o' 
him.  He  keeped  the  second  door  on  the  west  side 
o'  No.  4  Pit.  He  was  a  boy  like  the  rest  o'  the 
reckless  loons — could  lee  and  sweer,  and  aiblins, 
when  I  wasna  within  hearin'  tak'  a  drap  drink  and 
smoke  his  pipe  wi'  the  aulder  anes.  Fine  do  I  ken 
that  my  lad  was  nae  wee  white  hen  that  never  laid 
away ! 

"But  ae  Pay-Saturday,  wha  should  come  frae 
Manchester  but  the  lad's  auntie,  our  Elizabeth's 
sister,  ye  ken,  wha's  man  has  done  so  weel  at  the 
'pack.'  An'  she  telled  Airchie  aboot  the  grand 
place  that  the  toon  was,  and  the  big  pays,  and  the 
theayturs  an'  a'  the  ongauns,  till  she  had  the  laddie 
fair  by  himsel'.  I  mis-caa'ed  her  for  a  daft  haverel, 
pittin'  notions  into  the  bit  bairn's  head. 

"But  after  that  we  had  nae  peace.  Airchie 
fleeched  and  cried  on,  till  nocht  wad  serve  but  he 
maun  gang  awa  back  to  Manchester  wi'  his  auntie 
— her  payin'  his  passage  and  giein'  him  his  meat, 
as  it  were.  So  that  we  had  no  great  loss,  but  only 
his  day's  wage. 

"Noo  for  a  woman  that  was  sic  a  warrior  at  the 
eatin'  an'  drinkin',  for  her  weight  was  twenty  stane 
an'  her  customary  drink  stone  ale,  Marget  was  an 
awsome  woman  for  meetin's  an'  preachin's — juist 


296  Love   Idylls 

fair  unbelievable — and  as  for  texts,  boys-O — ,  she 
could  rattle  them  aff  like  a  string  o'  empties  gaun 
doon  the  do  ok.  She  never  got  to  the  end  o'  yin  o' 
them  afore  the  ither  was  at  its  tail. 

"So  I  kenned  weel  what  the  laddie  wad  get  in 
Manchester.  There  was  his  uncle — a  muckle  bag- 
git  Englishman  that  had  made  a  heap  o'  siller  by 
keepin'  nocht  but  'prentices  to  the  pack,  and 
sackin'  them  before  their  time  was  oot.  He  took 
Airchie  to  the  theaytre  the  ae  nicht — an'  the  next 
his  auntie  Marget  garred  him  trot  awa'  michty  un- 
willin',  to  some  o'  her  revival  meetin's! 

"But  o'  them  a',  there  was  no  yin  that  Airchie 
cared  a  docken  for,  till  on  the  Saturday  Marget 
gets  word  o'  a  terrible  genteel  kid  glove  Methody 
meetin'.  The  folk  were  just  crazy  to  gang  to  it, 
because  it  was  hadden  in  the  head  kirk  o'  the  place, 
that  was  caa'ed  the  Cathedral.  Though  what  for 
it  wasna  juist  decently  caa'ed  'the  Kirk'  is  mair 
than  I  can  tell  ye. 

"Jam-packed  it  was  at  ony  rate  when  Marget  an' 
Airchie  got  there.  They  were  squeezed  like  her- 
rings, and  it  was  as  warm  as  lying  on  your  back  in 
the  pit  an  howkin'  at  the  roof.  The  preacher  chap 
was  a'  done  up  in  a  sheet,  wi'  a  face  like  chalk,  hair 
like  ink,  and  e'en  like  holy  fire.  Marget  said  when 
she  cam'  hame,  that  she  had  heard  some  preachin' 


That  Popish  Parson  Fellow        297 

in  her  life — mair  maybe  than  had  done  her  muckle 
good — but  there  was  nocht  in  a'  her  experience 
to  touch  that  chap.  He  mixed  the  folk  up,  he 
twisted  them,  he  garred  them  laugh  or  greet  juist 
as  if  they  had  been  bairns  an'  him  the  dominie. 

"Marget  was  in  great  fettle  (so  her  man  said) 
when  she  gat  hame  to  her  stone  ale  an'  mutton 
pies.  It  was  the  grandest  'season'  she  had  ever 
had.  But  my  wee  Airchie  never  said  onything, 
but  cam'  his  way  back  to  Lochfinny  an'  gaed  to 
his  wark  at  No.  4  as  he  had  done  afore. 

"But  for  a'  that  he  was  a  different  boy,  I  could 
see  that.  He  gaed  aboot  that  quiet,  the  day  by  the 
length  ye  wadna  hae  heard  him  lettin'  an  ill  word 
oot  o'  the  mouth  o'  him.  His  mother  was  fair 
feared  that  he  was  gaun  in  a  decline.  I  asked 
Airchie  what  ailed  him.  But  he  looked  doon  and 
said,  'Nocht  particular,  faither.'  So  as  he  aye  took 
his  meal  o'  meat  regular,  I  took  nae  mair  heed 
either. 

"But  there  cam'  that  smash  in  number  fower  the 
nicht  the  engineman  got  fu' — careless  drucken 
deevil  he  was — an'  we  Airchie  got  the  nip.  So  we 
took  him  hame  to  his  mither,  mairchin'  slow  and 
carefu',  ye  ken  ower  weel  the  way  that  brings  the 
women  doon  the  road  like  bees,  to  ken  wha's  man 
or  bairn  it  is  they're  carryin'. 


298  Love   Idylls 


"They  hought  Airchie  to  the  bed,  that  he  had 
risen  frae  sae  brisk  that  morning',  ta'en  his  bit  can 
and  set  oot  whistling  like  a  mavis.  They  laid  him 
doon,  and  syne  oor  doctor  cam'.  He  was  kind  and 
quiet — touchin'  and  bandagein',  and  aye  wi'  a  joke 
an'  a  heartsome  word " 

'Three  cheers  for  the  Doctor!"  said  some  one 
in  the  background.  But  Muckle  Rob  took  no 
heed,  but  steadily  told  his  tale. 

"Neel  he  bade  Airchie  be  a  guid  lad,  to  mind  his 
prayers,  and  do  what  his  mither  telled  him,  an'  he 
wad  gaffer  the  pit  some  day  yet. 

"But,  lads,  when  he  gaed  oot,  he  gied  yon  thraw 
o'  his  nose  owre  his  shooder  at  me,  where  I  was 
standing  like  a  useles  lump  in  the  corner.  I  saw 
he  wanted  me  to  speak  at  the  door,  an'  my  heart 
gaed  down  like  lead. 

'Rob,'  he  said,  layin'  his  hand  on  my  arm, 
'better  let  Airchie  get  what  he  wants.  He  will  no 
want  it  lang.'  An'  lads,  I  was  near  the  greetin' — 
I  dinna  need  to  tell  ye  hoo  near,  for  ye  ken. 

"But  Airchie  wanted  naething,  only  to  be  letten 
alane.  Sae  in  the  afternune  his  mither  said  to  him, 
'Airchie,  lad,  ye  had  better  ken — ye  are  gaun  to 
leave  us,  Airchie — to  leave  your  faither  an'  your 
mither.     Is  there  ocht  that  ye  wad  like  dune?' 

"But  Airchie  lay  still  and  made  nae  muir  sign 


That  Popish   Parson   Fellow        299 

than  if  she  had  telled  him  to  gang  to  'hush-a-by' 
when  he  was  a  bairn.  But  in  a  while  he  said, 
'Mither,  if  I  maun  dee,  I  wad  like  awesome  well  to 
see  the  chap  in  the  white  goon  that  preached 
when  I  was  wi'  Auntie  Marget.' 

"But  we  talked  to  him  an'  argufied  wi'  him,  to 
pit  him  by  the  notion,  sayin'  that  the  man  was  some 
great  Englisher,  and,  besides  a'  that,  it  was  an  awfu' 
lang  road  off.  And  that  it  wasna  to  be  expected 
that  he  could  leave  his  wark  an'  come  awa'  to  see 
a  collier  lad  here  in  Scotland.  Sae  we  asked  him 
gin  the  minister  here  wadna  do,  for  he  was  a  decent 
man  and  weel  liked. 

"But  Airchie  was  michty  set  in  his  mind,  and  he 
said,  'I  ken  it's  no  to  be  expected,  but  if  I  canna 
hae  the  chap  in  the  white  goon  to  speak  to  me,  I 
want  naebody,'  says  he. 

"Sae  as  I  was  writing  to  his  Auntie  to  tell  aboot 
the  accident  at  ony  rate,  I  put  in  a  bit  aboot  what 
Airchie  had  said — never  thinkin'  but  that  it  wad 
juist  pleasure  her  to  ken  that  Airchie  minded  the 
preachin,'  wi'  nae  thocht  ava  o'  onything  mair. 

"But  Marget  was  ever,  as  ye  ken,  a  forritsome 
woman.  I  think  it  maun  hae  been  wi'  companyin' 
so  muckle  wi'  thae  Englishers,  for  it  wasna  o'  her 
kind  o'  folk.  Sae  as  soon  as  she  got  the  letter, 
what  does  the  daft  woman  do,  but  pits  on  her  bon- 


300  Love   Idylls 

net  an'  awa  to  the  graund  hoose  whaur  Maister 
Cox  Noble  (for  that  was  the  name  of  the  chap), 
leeved.  But  he  wasna  in.  He  was  awa'  on  his  holi- 
days that  verra  mornin',  awa'  in  Cornwall  where 
the  Methody  miners  comes  frae.  He  was  fair  dune 
wi'  workin'  at  his  revivalin',  the  hoosekeeper  said. 

"Then  Auntie  Marget  was  gaun  awa'  disheark- 
ened  like,  when  the  woman  cried  her  back. 

'But,'  says  she,  'ye  micht  tell  me  what  ye  cam' 
aboot,  if  it's  no  a  secret.  For  the  master  likes  to 
hear  when  he  comes  hame.'  Then  Marget  telled 
her  a'  aboot  the  puir  lad  that  had  been  hurt  awa' 
in  the  north.  I  jaloose  she  was  glad  to  hae  some- 
body to  tell.  And  sae  she  gaed  her  ways  back 
hame. 

"We  were  a'  sittin'  up  wi'  Airchie  that  night, 
and  I  could  see  that  he  wadna  be  lang.  It  was  far 
ower  in  the  mornin' — on  the  back  o'  twa' — that 
there  cam'  a  canny  chappin'  at  the  door.  The 
laddie's  mither  gaed  to  it,  thinkin'  it  was  aiblins  a 
neebour  corned  to  speir  hoo  Airchie  was.  But 
when  she  opened  it,  there  on  the  step,  wi'  a  wee 
bag  in  his  hand,  was  the  Englishy  parson,  white  as 
the  sheet  he  had  preached  in,  wi'  the  e'en  o'  him 
fair  sunk  in  his  head  wi'  travel  and  want  o'  sleep. 
Sax  hundred  mile  he  had  come  to  see  my  wee 


That   Popish   Parson   Fellow        301 


Airchie.  We  couldna  speak  to  him,  we  war  that 
pitten  aboot. 

"So  he  cam'  ben,  an'  ye  should  hae  seen  the 
laddie's  face  as  pleased  like  as  if  he  had  seen  an 
angel  frae  heeven. 

"I  can  dee  noo  !"  he  said. 

"And  there  the  Englishy  chiel  sat,  wi'  my  boy's 
hand  in  his,  a'  the  nicht  till  the  mornin',  whiles 
speakin'  a  wee  an'  whiles  no. 

"An'  so  they  sat  till  Airchie  heard  the  doors 
opening  up  and  doon  the  raw,  and  the  men  gangin' 
awa'  to  the  pit  wi'  their  cannies  and  their  lamps. 

"  That  is  the  day-shift,  minister,'  he  said;  'I 
maun  gang  too !' 

"An'  that  was  the  way  oor  wee  Airchie  gaed  oot 
wi'  the  day-shift !" 

And  at  the  road  end,  there  was  silence  a  little 
when  the  tale  was  done,  and  Muckle  Rob  sat  with 
his  hand  covering  his  brow. 

At  last  Pete  Miller  spoke. 

"We'll  hae  nae  mair  quoitin'  ower  by  the  chay- 
pel,"  he  said. 

"Na,"  said  all  the  men,  rising  together  very 
soberly.  "Nae  mair  quoitin'  at  the  chaypel  after 
this!" 


THE    EXERCISE    BOOK 
OF 
FIELD-MARSHAL   PRINCE 

ILANTZ 

They  buried  the  Prince  Ilantz,  Commandant  of 
all  the  Kaiserlich  Armies.  With  massed  battalions 
of  infantry,  tramp  of  cavalry,  thunder  of  artillery, 
they  buried  him.  The  chosen  bands  of  a  dozen  army 
corps  made  the  Dead  March  to  rend  men's  hearts 
and  overflow  the  eyes  of  women.  The  Prince's  own 
Uhlan  regiment,  of  which  he  was  Colonel,  escorted 
his  body  to  the  grave.  They  led  his  charger  behind 
him,  saddle-empty.  And  because  there  was  no  rela- 
tive to  be  chief  mourner,  the  King-like,  Kaiser-like 
Majesty  in  person  followed  after. 

They  laid  him  away  in  his  Field-Marshal's  uni- 
form, which  might  have  been  covered  with  medals 
and  decorations  as  thick  as  plate  armour.  But  be- 
cause it  was  his  will  and  custom  to  wear  only  the 
Iron  Cross  of  Valour  upon  it,  which  any  common 
soldier  might  wear,  and  wear  as  well  as  he — even 
thus  they  buried  him  who  had  been  the  first  soldier 


304  Love   Idylls 

of  his  time,  and  died  Field-Marshal  the  Prince  of 
Ilantz.  And  between  his  hands  was  placed  a  young 
girl's  exercise-book,  for  so  it  was  written  in  his  will. 
Also  it  had  been  his  last  dying  command.  When  the 
end  drew  very  near,  his  sovereign  stooped  to  whis- 
per a  word  of  cheer  to  the  man  who  had  girded  his 
throne  with  a  ring  of  unconquered  swords. 

"Is  there  aught  that  I  can  do,  Prince  Field-Mar- 
shal?" asked  the  Emperor.  The  eye  which  had  a 
hundred  times  set  the  battle  in  array  flashed  a  mes- 
sage and  directed  his  master  with  a  look  to  his  de- 
sire. 

"The  box? — am  I  to  open  it?"  asked  the  Emperor 
gently. 

The  dying  general  nodded.  It  was  a  tiny  casket 
of  gold,  of  beautiful  inlaid  workmanship,  which 
stood  beside  the  bed — sole  ornament  ox  a  chamber 
sternly  bare,  as  had  been  the  great  soldier's  quarters 
on  active  service. 

The  Emperor  opened  the  close-fitting,  smooth- 
shutting  golden  lid.  There  was  a  little  paper-cov- 
ered book  within.  "Will  your  High  Majesty  deign 
to  set  that  book  between  my  hands  when  I  am  dead, 
and  so  command  to  bury  me?"  said  the  Prince 
Ilantz.  "Wife  or  child,  brother  or  sister  have  I 
none.  But  if  my  Kaiser  will  do  this  for  his  servant, 
I  have  not  lived  in  vain." 


Field-Marshal  Prince  Ilantz         305 

So  the  gold  box  stood  for  ever  afterwards  on  the 
Emperor's  own  table.  But  the  book  he  placed  him- 
self with  honour  and  observance  between  the  dead 
man's  fingers.  So  it  had  remained  while  he  lay  in 
state.  So  it  kept  place  through  the  ordered  ceremo- 
nial of  the  military  funeral.  There  it  was,  when 
about  the  open  grave  the  picked  soldiers  of  a  dozen 
army  corps,  commanded  by  the  Emperor,  wheeled 
solemnly  and  inevitably  into  their  places  about  the 
bier.  For  the  dead,  and  he  alone,  had  taught  them 
how.  The  paper  book  was  there  when  the  artillery 
thundered  the  last  earth-shaking  salute.  The  dead 
hand  held  it  when  the  Emperor  took  the  vacant  place 
at  the  head  of  the  Field-Marshal's  Uhlans  regiment, 
for  it  was  an  Imperial  rescript  that  none  save  the 
Emperor  himself  should  ever  be  their  Colonel  after 
Herman  von  Edelwald,  Prince  of  Ilantz  and  first 
soldier  of  the  Empire. 

And  the  girl's  grey  paper  exercise-book  abides  to 

this  day  where  an  Emperor  placed  it — under  the 

piled  marble  of  the  monument  raised  by  his  country. 

But  no  one,  not  even  the  Emperor  himself,  knows 

what  is  in  that  book — except  one  old  woman  whose 

name  is  Augusta.     Yet  I  will  tell  the  story  of  the 

paper  book  of  grey  in  the  dead  soldier's  hand. 
******* 

Once  in  golden  weather  a  young  man  abode  all 


306  Love   Idylls 

the  summer  upon  the  tableland  of  Ilantz.  He  was 
a  soldier  by  profession,  but  a  wound  had  given  him 
at  once  promotion  and  a  prolonged  furlough. 

Every  era  has  its  favourite  health  resorts.  Ilantz 
was  the  fashion  in  the  days  when  the  young  officer 
of  Uhlans  rested  his  wounded  left  arm  and  painted 
indefatigably  with  his  right. 

Famous  men  and  beautiful  women  frequented  the 
hotels  of  Ilantz.  But  the  young  soldier-artist  passed 
shy  and  silent  among  them.  He  made  friends 
with  no  one.  He  entered  no  coterie.  He  was  a 
member  of  no  clique.  He  was  asked  to  no  reception. 
He  had  only  his  modest  bedroom  and  his  place  at 
table  in  the  vast  caravanserai.  But  his  fellow-guests 
passed  about  him  like  the  shadows  of  the  passers- 
by  upon  the  ceiling  of  a  darkened  room. 

In  the  first  burst  of  summer  which  arrives  with 
June,  there  came  to  the  Hotel  of  the  Baths  a  brother 
and  two  sisters.  The  young  officer  knew  the  new- 
comers by  sight,  for  they  came  from  his  own  part  of 
the  country.  They  were  the  Graf  von  Eulenstein 
and  his  sisters  Augusta  and  Margaret,  from  their 
castle  in  grey  Pomerania.  Very  poor  the  Eulen- 
steins  were;  but  of  lineage  old  as  the  Paladins  of 
Charles  the  Great.  The  Count  was  tall  and  dark, 
and  his  poverty  made  him  hide  his  kindliness  under 
a  mantle  of  reserve.     His  sister  Augusta  was  like 


Field-Marshal  Prince  Ilantz         307 

him  in  appearance,  stately  and  dignified,  and  the 
faded  lace  on  her  shoulders  became  her  like  a  queen's 
coronet. 

But  Margaret,  the  second  sister,  was  ten  years 
younger.  And  something  broke  like  a  violin  string 
in  the  heart  of  the  young  painter-lieutenant  as  he 
looked  at  the  maid  Margaret  in  the  simple  beauty  of 
her  maidenhood.  She  was  fair  of  face,  white  as  a 
lily,  and  the  rose-blush  went  and  came  with  the 
breath  on  her  cheek.  Her  eyes  were  blue — cool,  like 
wells  where  clear  water  is — and  the  long  lashes 
which  shaded  them  were  dark  and  most  modestly 
lowered. 

The  young  officer  could  scarce  tear  his  eyes  away 
from  such  beauty  as  he  had  never  seen  before.  Her- 
man von  Edelwald  was  a  soldier,  but  he  had  no  sol- 
dierly boldness  with  women.  He  went  to  his  work 
the  next  day  as  usual,  and  the  day  after  that,  and  so 
till  the  weeks  passed  by.  But  he  watched  the  hotel 
doors  for  her  coming.  He  waited  for  the  passing  of 
the  Eulensteins  as  they  made  their  daily  promenades. 
The  Count  and  Augusta  often  walked  rapidly  be- 
fore, talking  seriously  together,  while  Margaret  fol- 
lowed a  little  behind,  as  if  she  were  easily  tired,  or  it 
might  be  a  little  lonely,  being  younger  than  the 
others. 

In  the  evening  the  Lieutenant's  table  was  opposite 


308  Love  Idylls 

to  theirs,  and  the  young  man  allowed  himself  occa- 
sionally the  shy  luxury  of  a  prolonged  gaze.  But 
once  he  caught  the  Count's  eye  instead  of  Mar- 
garet's, and  it  seemed  to  him  that  its  glance  was 
sharp  as  a  sword-blade. 

The  next  evening  Margaret  had  changed  places. 
The  Count  was  opposite  to  him,  and  there  was  a  va- 
cant place  between  the  two  sisters.  Presently  there 
came  in  a  young  officer,  whom  Edelwald  had  seen 
about  headquarters.  He  was  the  son  of  a  rich  and 
influential  official.  He  sat  down  by  Margaret  Eulen- 
stein,  and,  so  soon  as  he  began  to  talk,  there  re- 
mained in  the  artist's  mind  no  doubt  of  his  position. 
He  posed  openly  as  the  accepted  family  suitor  for 
the  hand  of  Margaret.  But  though  her  brother 
talked  freely  enough  and  Augusta  glanced  mean- 
ingly at  her,  Margaret  sat  silent,  looking  down  and 
eating  little.  She  was  pale  as  marble,  and  Edel- 
wald noticed  that  the  rose-leaf  flush  did  not  now 
come  and  go  upon  her  cheeks  of  lilies. 

Then  the  Lieutenant  went  out,  and  walked  for 
hours  upon  the  moors.  The  world  was  very  black 
that  night,  and  there  was  no  God  anywhere.  Yet  he 
watched  for  her  every  day,  and  his  eyes  followed 
after  the  party  of  four,  with  the  brother  and  sister  in 
front  and  the  silent  pair  lagging  behind. 

Yet  when  their  eyes  met  again  on  the  stairs,  there 


Field-Marshal   Prince  Ilantz         309 


was  no  brightness  of  the  happy  lover  on  the  face  of 
Margaret. 

"I  am  tired,"  she  would  say  to  her  brother;  and 
often,  instead  of  dining,  would  ask  permission  to  go 
quietly  to  her  own  room.  She  kissed  his  ring  as  she 
rose  from  table,  and  then  the  men  would  unconcern- 
edly go  on  with  their  talk.  But  Augusta  would  wait 
a  little  and  quietly  glide  after  her  sister. 

Paler  and  always  paler  grew  the  young  maid 
Margaret.  Edelwald  raged  within  himself.  The 
scoundrel  Seidlitz  (he  thought)  was  not  treat- 
ing the  girl  properly.  She  was  pining  for  his 
warmer  affection,  or  afraid  that  he  would  give  her 
up  because  of  her  delicate  health. 

"This  girl,  who  is  to  me  as  my  life,  is  dying  by 
inches ;  and  I  cannot  help  her  or  even  speak  to  her !" 
So  cried  the  soul  of  Edelwald  to  the  flying  clouds  of 
the  moorlands  as  he  paced  the  heath. 

One  evening  in  September  the  Lieutenant  had 
gone  down  to  dine  with  a  number  of  officers  whom 
he  had  known  in  the  campaign  where  he  got  his 
wound.  Seidlitz  was  there,  and,  being  flushed  with 
wine,  grew  volubly  thick  of  speech. 

He  was  rallied  as  to  his  reason  for  remaining  at 
Ilantz,  and  made  no  scruple  to  declare  that  it  was 
because  his  father  insisted  upon  his  marrying  the 
younger  Eulenstein.    But  he  was  determined  not  to 


310  Love  Idylls 


marry  a  sick  woman,  who  might  be  an  encumbrance 
all  her  life.  He  was  ready  to  throw  the  girl  over  and 
fight  the  brother,  if  necessary,  he  said.     "I  am  not 

going  to  marry  a "    And  the  French  word  he 

used  was  not  a  pretty  one. 

But  the  young  Lieutenant  rose  from  his  place,  and 
without  a  single  syllable  of  speech  he  struck  the 
brute  Seidlitz  on  the  mouth.  They  fought  outside, 
and  in  spite  of  his  wounded  arm  Edelwald  hit  his  foe 
on  the  shoulder,  and  might,  had  he  chosen,  have 
killed  him.  After  the  wound  was  dressed,  the  Lieu- 
tenant went  up  to  Seidlitz. 

"You  will  not  send  that  letter  you  spoke  of  to 
your  father/'  he  said.  "You  will  continue  the  ar- 
rangements for  your  betrothal  to  Margaret  Eulen- 
stein." 

"And  pray  by  whose  orders  am  I  to  do  these 
things?"  said  Seidlitz  scornfully. 

"You  will  do  them,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  under 
his  breath,  "because,  if  you  do  not,  I,  Herman  Edel- 
wald, will  follow  you  over  the  earth  to  kill  you.  I 
do  not  swear  it.  I  simply  say  it.  I  will  kill  you  if 
you  give  a  moment's  pain  to  Margaret  Eulenstein." 

Yet,  in  spite  of  the  clear  Alpine  air,  the  care  of 
physicians,  and  the  new  and  evident  devotion  of 
Seidlitz,  the  girl  paled  and  fainted.  Bitterly  and 
silently  the  Lieutenant  watched.     Seidlitz  also  saw 


Field-Marshal   Prince   Ilantz         3 1 1 


it.  All,  save  the  Count  and  his  sister  knew  the  truth. 
They,  or  at  least  the  Count,  were  intent  only  on 
pushing  on  the  betrothal. 

But  one  morning  Margaret  did  not  come  down. 
She  lay  still  on  her  bed,  and  her  cheek  was  no  paler 
in  death  than  it  had  been  for  many  days  in  life.  The 
Count  and  Augusta  were  distracted.  The  blow  had 
fallen  as  from  God.  They  knew  that  Margaret  was 
delicate  of  constitution.  But  they  had  never  thought 
of  this.  Nevertheless,  their  sister,  for  whom  they 
had  schemed,  lay  dead  upstairs,  and  all  their  schem- 
ing for  her  was  in  ruins  below. 

As  the  brother  and  sister  sat  wrapped  in  their  sud- 
den terror  of  darkness,  a  card  was  brought  to  them. 

The  Lieutenant  Herman  Freiherr  von  Edelwald 
was  the  antique  style  of  the  name.  "It  is  the  young 
painter,"  said  Augusta.    "What  can  he  want?" 

"To  offer  his  services,  without  doubt,"  said  the 
Count.     "But  I  did  not  know  he  was  noble." 

So  the  Lieutenant  at  last  had  speech  with  two  of 
those  to  whom  he  had  so  often  desired  to  speak. 

"I  am  an  artist  as  well  as  a  soldier,"  he  said  to  the 
Count  and  his  sister.  "I  have  heard  of  your  great 
sorrow.  It  is  also  a  deep  sorrow  of  mine.  I  come 
to  ask  you  to  allow  me  to  paint  and  present  to  you  a 
picture  of  your  sister  as  a  last  memorial." 

The  Count  was  on  the  point  of  declining  some- 


3  i  2  Love  Idylls 

what  brusquely.  It  was  the  intrusion  of  a  stranger, 
well  meant,  but  impossible  and  almost  intolerable. 
But  as  he  rose  to  put  an  end  to  the  matter,  his  sister 
Augusta,  whose  grey  hair  seemed  greyer  than  ever, 
stayed  him  with  her  hand. 

"After  all,"  she  said,  "might  not  this  fall  out  well? 
We  have  had  no  picture  of  Margaret  of  any  kind 
taken  since  she  was  a  child." 

The  Count  bent  his  brows  impatiently.  His  sister 
continued  to  look  at  him. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "after  all,  how  do  you  know  that 
the  gentleman  could  paint  the  picture  to  give  any 
likeness  of  the  well-beloved  sister  we  have  lost?" 

"I  see  it  in  his  face,"  said  Augusta.  For  she  also 
was  a  woman. 

As  the  Lieutenant  sat  down  to  his  work  a  letter 
was  brought  to  him.  His  presence  was  urgently 
commanded  at  the  headquarters  of  his  regiment.  He 
hurriedly  calculated  that  he  had  but  six  hours  to  do 
the  work.  But  when  Augusta  raised  the  light  linen 
coverture  from  the  pale  face  which  had  now  no  rose- 
leaf  blush  upon  it,  the  beating  of  his  heart  won- 
drously  stilled  itself.  He  felt  that  the  first  immediate 
presence  of  the  beloved  was  to  him  as  the  eve  of  a 
marriage  day. 

He  began   slowly,  looking  often   at  Margaret's 


Field-Marshal   Prince   Ilantz         313 

face,  and  at  the  folds  of  fine  coverlet  which  outlined 
her  limbs. 

But  soon  Edelwald  began  to  work  more  swiftly. 
He  looked  less  often  at  Margaret's  face.  His  hands 
seemed  hardly  to  leave  the  picture.  The  afternoon 
lengthened,  and  the  shadows  stretched  out. 

The  bells  of  the  little  church  sounded  the  hour  of 
evening  worship.  It  was  the  Sabbath,  and  many 
peasant  women-folk  went  soberly  and  trustfully 
towards  the  pleasant,  solemn  sound.  Their  feet  clat- 
tered on  the  round  paving-stones  of  the  village 
street.  The  hired  carriage  Edelwald  had  ordered 
jingled  to  the  door.  At  last  the  artist  looked  at  his 
watch  and  stood  back  from  his  picture. 

Augusta  came  softly  from  her  window-seat  and 
looked  also.  At  the  first  glance  she  gave  a  little  cry. 
"It  is  herself!"  she  cried.  "Our  Margaret  as  she 
was  when  she  came  from  school!  How  did  you 
know  ?  You  had  never  seen  her  thus.  How  is  such 
a  marvel  possible?" 

"Ich  habc  geliebt"  said  the  Lieutenant  simply, 
and  bowed  his  head,  and  went  away.  So  Augusta 
was  left  with  the  picture  of  wide-eyed  smiling  maid- 
enhood upon  the  easel,  and  the  other  still  innocence 
upon  the  bed,  with  the  eyelids  closed  upon  the  true 
sweet  eyes  for  ever.  Yet  when  she  went  to  the  pil- 
low to  cover  the  face  again  with  the  white  linen, 


3H  Love   Idylls 


there  was  a  smile  upon  it  she  had  never  seen  before. 
It  seemed  the  reflected  joy  which  shone  in  the  pic- 
ture which  Herman  the  soldier  had  painted  "because 
he  loved  her." 

Next  morning,  after  the  funeral,  Augusta  found  a 
book — a  little  grey  paper  book.  It  was  laid  away 
carefully  and  sacredly  in  Margaret's  desk,  among 
her  simple  treasures  and  books  of  devotion.  Au- 
gusta opened  it  a  little  carelessly.  She  expected 
copies  of  favourite  verses,  or  it  might  be  a  few 
pressed  flowers.  She  read  the  first  page.  She  shut 
the  book.  Then  she  opened  it  again,  and  passed 
rapidly  over  the  pages  to  the  last,  which  had  been 
left  unfinished. 

'To-day  I  stood  beside  him  for  a  moment  in  the 
hall  when  he  came  in  with  his  painting.  His  shoul- 
der touched  mine.  It  is  foolish,  I  know,  but  if 
Augusta  had  not  caught  me,  I  should  have  fallen.  I 
wish  now  I  could  have  lived  a  little  longer.  For  I 
love  him — I  love  him!" 

The  words  had  been  written  the  day  before  Mar- 
garet's death.  As  her  sister  finished  the  reading,  the 
Count  came  in,  and  Augusta  hastily  hid  the  book  in 
the  pocket  of  her  dress. 

"After  all,  the  book  is  for  no  man's  eyes — for  no 
eyes  but  mine,  indeed.  And  even  I  shall  read  no 
more,"  Augusta  said.       So  she  went  back  to  the 


Field-Marshal   Prince   Ilantz        315 


emptiest   room   in   the   world.     And   even   as   she 

looked,  lo !  there  was  the  light  of  a  new  thing  in  the 

eyes  which  looked  at  her  out  of  Edelwald's  picture. 

She  gazed  at  it  long  through  her  tears,  fingering  the 

while  the  little  exercise  book  under  her  gown. 

"Yes,  for  the  eyes  of  one  other!"  she  said.    And 

she  went  hastily  and  made  a  little  parcel. 

******* 

And  that  is  the  story  of  the  grey  paper  book  which 
the  Emperor  placed  in  the  dead  hands  of  Field-Mar- 
shal Prince  Ilantz,  first  soldier  of  the  Empire. 


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